Dark Child
by tidra2012mi
Summary: Harry Potter is for children... but was he meant to be? His story is laced with traces of something... more... J.K. had to filter the story to make it suitable, so she could sell it, but Harry is a Dark Child, and I'd like to convince you of that. (future smut possible, straight and yaoi, though if I get lots of reveiws and requests, I'd be willing to try for yuri. story focustho.)
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: Obviously, I do not own Harry Potter or any of it's characters. I simply felt that Rowling left out a lot of scenarios to keep her books appropriate for now, the goal is to add the levels of angst and violence that the story so lacked, though eventually I may add some pairings, my favorite is of course Drarry, Snarry, Romione, Nevilluna, and Harinny. Depending on reviews I may include other pairings, though I have no intention of including any incest, though rape may eventually happen, have yet to decide. I will give more than fair warning whenever a chapter includes adult content, or particularly gory chapters. Also when the story is story and not smut.**

 **Hope you guys like, please don't flag me, because some people might like this.**

 **These are some quotes referring to Harry's life pre-Hogwarts, and this chapter delves deeper into this part of Harry's life, as I feel it was glanced over with far too little care**

'Dudley's favorite punching bag was Harry, but he couldn't often catch him. He didn't look it, but he was very fast.'

'Tired of Harry coming back from the barbers looking as though he hadn't been at all, had taken a pair of kitchen scissors and cut his hair so short he was almost bald except for his bangs, which she left to 'hide that horrible scar.' Next morning, however, he had gotten up to find his hair exactly as it had been before Aunt Petunia had sheared it off… trying to force him into a revolting old sweater… the harder she tried to pull it over his head, the smaller it seemed to become, until it might have fitted a hand puppet, but certainly wouldn't fit Harry. He'd gotten into terrible trouble for being found on the roof of the school kitchens. Dudley's gang had been chasing him as usual when, as much to Harry's surprise as anyone else's, there he was sitting on the chimney But all he'd tried to do (as he shouted at Uncle Vernon through the locked door of his cupboard) was jump behind the big trash cans outside the kitchen doors.'

At school, Harry had no one. Everybody knew that Dudley's gang hated that odd Harry Potter in his baggy old clothes and broken glasses. And nobody liked to disagree with Dudley's gang.'

'Piers, Dennis, Malcolm, and Gordon were all big and stupid, but as Dudley was the biggest and stupidest of the lot, he was the leader. The rest of them were all quite happy to join in Dudley's favorite sport: Harry Hunting.'

'He'd never been more nervous, never, not even when he'd had to take a school report home to the Dursleys saying that he'd somehow turned his teacher's wig blue.'

 **And that's it for the quotes. From now on, this is my writing, still don't own Harry, but this is my version of J.K Rowling's Harry Potter.-**

Harry was insanely bored. If it were up to him, he'd be spending the time away from home outside. School was tedious, it wasn't like he had any friends to make it worth going, the only reason he didn't just skip was because it would more than likely end up with him being locked in his cupboard as soon as he got home. If that happened, maybe the teachers would finally notice when he started losing more and more weight, though they would probably just blame it on anorexia like some silly girl obsessed with her size. "Mr. Potter, would you care to solve the problems on the board?" He struggled to hold back a sigh, the teachers always thought that because he wasn't looking up front, that he wasn't paying attention. "The square root of 625 is 25. X is 3. Y is 6."

As Harry gathered his books, a hand appears out of nowhere and shoves one of the corners of his books down, sending the entire stack tumbling with a loud clatter to the floor. He scowls, looking up into Dudley's fat puffy face, "Get out of my way freak, I'm walkin' here." A rebuke instantly makes its way to his lips without making the conscious decision to say anything, "It's not my fault you take up the entire isle. Stop stuffing your face and maybe you'd fit better." Dudley makes an irritated face, moving to trap Harry in his desk, but Harry simply jumps up so his feet land on the desk, hopping off on the other side, his feet back on the floor, giving him a chance to duck as Dudley swings to punch him.

Harry scrambles to gather his books in a heap in his arms, knowing better than to leave them behind, but just as he was building up the momentum to escape, he felt a fist close on the hem of his shirt, the baggy material pulled taunt as he continued to try to scrabble away, the shirt quickly tearing as Dudley pulled back, freeing Harry, who swiftly makes his way out of the classroom. He easily outran Dudley, slowing to a walk once he got close to his next class, scanning for teachers, after all, it would be just his luck to get in trouble for running in the halls again.

Gym class might have been Harry's favorite subject, after all, he wasn't bad at sports, and he was one of the fastest in his year, even being as small as he was. But with Dudley and his little gang of idiots, there was no way he'd ever NOT get picked last, and he knew this, but as he scuffed his oversized sneakers, the laces vise tight in order to keep them from slipping off with each step, his hands being wrung behind his back, staring at the grimy gym floor, the boy next to him practically wheezing simply from standing, his asthma so terrible, he felt pointedly unwanted. He wished there were a way he could simply vanish, so he didn't have to bear being under the eye of the group, wishing the teacher would simply excuse whoever got picked last.

But that would just make him even less normal, and that was all he wanted really. To be treated like everyone else. To have a group of friends like Dudley did, only made of decent people, who treated him like a person rather than an infectious parasite to be tormented if not ignored. With a regretful sigh, one of the captains gestures to Harry, "I guess we're stuck with Potter, lets just get on with it then " He grit his teeth, the nervous insecurity shifting to a bubble of rage at how incredibly unfair this was, and he felt a surge of determination, he had to show them that he wasn't worthless, he's not just a waste of space. He was worth picking for teams even if they never changed, he had to make sure everyone knew that Dudley was the only reason they picked him last he was NOT bad at sports, he could keep up.

Harry knew for a fact that Dudley would never let him get away with talking back without getting back at him later. At the final bell, they were both free to start walking home, but Harry knew better, Gordon, Dennis and Malcolm were almost as beefy as Dudley, but Piers was the brainy one, and that was saying something, as the highest grade the idiot had ever gotten was a C-. And all their parents would be devastated if they didn't turn in their homework, though they could blame it on boys being boys, like they did for everything else.

Footsteps from the corner behind him make him edgy, and with a subtle turn back of his head, he looks behind him, and immediately sees two of the last five people he wanted to see. Malcolm and Gordon, trudging along behind him, their bleary eyes locked on his form. Harry starts walking faster, when ahead of him there was a short alleyway. A distance ahead, the other three were advancing, more than likely, they would catch him if he ran left, as the gate enclosing the school didn t let out until far past the other group. Beyond hoping that the path to the right had a door, he books it, kicking up pebbles as he sprits at full speed ,adrenaline making him faster as he skids his way into the back of the school There were a few bins of garbage next to a double door, which he immediately tried to open, only to find that he'd trapped himself between Dudley's gang and a locked door.

He immediately searches for escape, becoming desperate. He knew if they caught him he'd be bleeding when he got home. He had to hide. Had to get away. The bins were his only means of escaping, he wanted to disappear, but hiding might be the only way he could avoid this. Bending his knees, he leaps behind the bins, desperate to hide before the group sees him. His skin tingles as he does this, but his fear of getting beaten is all he can think about. Suddenly he's looking over the entire yard, the sky clear today, and he's suddenly struck by how pretty it was, and he found himself wishing, not for the first time, that he had a window in his room.

Or even a bedroom, instead of a tiny cupboard, like an unwanted pet, locked out of sight and out of mind. It suddenly hit him that he was on the roof, sitting on the chimney of the school, the warm air rushing over his back, relaxing and soothing. But now he was nervous for a different reason. How in the world had he gotten up here? How was he going to get down? He started waving his arms and shouting to catch the attention of the teachers below, though he wasn t afraid of the height, he was afraid of what would happen when he got home.

Aunt Petunia tried her very best to make Harry look like a Dursley rather than a Potter, or at least that's what he assumed, as he had no idea what his father looked like, and he knew for a fact that his mother couldn't have had hair as dark as Harry's, Aunt Petunia was a blonde after all, so his mother probably was too. Harry was quite happy he hadn't inherited that trait, Dudley was blonde, and if Harry had been blonde, they would have actually looked related. But Harry's hair was messy, always messy, and there was nothing he, Aunt Petunia, or his barber could do about it. Or so Harry thought. Aunt Petunia usually tried to keep Harry's hair short, so it didn't look quite so terrible, but she seemed especially frustrated with it today. Maybe the stress from trying to explain away his sudden and impossible appearance on the roof of the school had her nerves fried, honestly, he wasn't looking forward to anything she had in mind for him.

While Harry was cooking dinner for the family, as per usual, Aunt petunia grabbed a fistful of hair along the back of his head, causing his head to tip back as he went up on his toes to avoid the pain that would result if she tugged any harder. "Jesus What does that useless man use on this mop? Safety scissors? You look as though you've never gotten a haircut in your life! As soon as we finish eating I'll take care of it on my own. If you want a job done right you'll do it yourself!" She released his scalp, and he rubs at his head, turning back to his work, "Honestly, you can't depend on people these days " Harry would have slow down his eating, but if he didn t eat as fast as he did, Dudley would have finished it anyway, the fat lard. So it wasn t too much longer before Aunt Petunia barked at him to set everything up, pulling one of the chairs to the center of the kitchen and fetching a towel. Uncle Vernon was watching television with Dudley, though Dudley quickly turned to look, wondering just what his mother had in store for Harry. Harry was wondering that himself, and he wasn't feeling optimistic. But that was about the time he realized, the chair was facing the TV. As long as he wasn't obvious about it he could watch what Dudley got to watch every night.

As he sat down, his face angled slightly down, only to get his head yanked back by his hair as Aunt Petunia nearly choked him with the edge of the towel, then shoved forward so she could tie it off, then tugged back again so it was level, Harry blinking as his scalp twinges from the abuse. His eyes lock on the screen, and he noticed that it was sports, a basketball game, Aunt petunia impatiently brings the scissors to his scalp, the snip of a long lock of hair lost as Harry stops thinking about Aunt Petunia, instead, watching as tall men zoom across the court, moving fast, their shoes almost as loud as the bouncing of the ball, and he finds that he would love to play this game, or any game really he'd always wanted to be a part of a team.

As his head becomes noticeably lighter and lighter, he delves deeper into his mind, blocking himself from thinking about what was happening. These players had to be friends with each other, they were together for every game, they had to form bonds eventually. Maybe number 34 and 23 liked the same girl but worked past it and decided that no girl was worth losing their friendship. Maybe 57 and 18 grew up in the same town, both with dreams of becoming famous athletes, helping each other grow by basically becoming rivals, but never getting angry, as their friendship came before anything maybe one even got an offer to be on a better team and turned it down because they wouldn't take the other..

Harry wondered what it would be like to have a friend willing to do that for him, willing to give up his dream to stay by his side. Harry wondered what it would be like to have a friend at all. Someone to complain about his Aunt and Uncle to, someone who would stand beside him in a fight against Dudley, he didn't care if he still lost, just so he wouldn't have to face it all alone. But he would never get that as long as he went to school with Dudley, had to wear his hand-me-downs, and constantly had to watch for traps and bullies. "There Done. "

Harry blinked, looking down when he realized his eyes were getting wet, though he managed to keep the tears at bay. "Sweep up the mess, wipe off the chair and put it back, put the towel in the laundry." Harry put the towel away first, passing by the mirror Aunt Petunia had hung in the hallway to let more light in the room. His jaw nearly dropped as horror filled him, his hair looked horrible! It was sheared close to his scalp, and uneven in this, but to make it even worse, he had a thick strip of his messy hair hanging over his forehead, looking as though the job was only half finished. His breathing picks up, only just now registering that Dudley had been laughing for quite some time, holding his sides as he jiggled about. There was no way he could go to school like this!

Rushing back to his Aunt, he picks up the scissors and tries to hand the to her, "Can you trim it a little more in the front, please? I think you missed a spot." She simply snatched them way and put them in the sink, rinsing them off as she speaks, "I think not! I left it long intentionally, that horrible scar of yours is an eyesore, you should be grateful I left you something to cover it, now do as you were told, or you can forget eating breakfast tomorrow." She walks off to put the scissors away, leaving Harry staring after her, his face white as he slowly begins to move, a paper towel taken to the chair, removing the stray hairs that cling to it, moving the chair back to the table, then getting the broom and pan and gathering up quite a pile of his hair, which he stares at as he brings it to the can, hesitating as he hovers it over.

What he wouldn't give to be able to put them back. He'd be ok if it was a little shorter, but there was no way he could face the rest of Dudley's gang like this. He was nearly shaking as he let the hair fall into the bin, putting away the broom and pan before finishing the rest of his chores, earning himself quite a few jeers from Uncle Vernon and Dudley, all three of them looking smug, as though the fact that he was going to be humiliated was a perfectly normal thing to find enjoyable. As soon as his work was done, he was hiding in his cupboard, clutching his pillow to his chest with his legs curled and holding it tightly in place, the lower half of his face obscured by the pillow, his nose lightly running as his eyes drain themselves of tears, causing him to sniff every few seconds.

There was no way. He'd die of embarrassment. Any chance of ANYONE even attempting to TALK to him in a friendly manner would evaporate. His eyes squeeze shut as he presses the pillow to his mouth to keep himself from sobbing, that way, even if he failed, Dudley wouldn't mock him for crying, Uncle Vernon wouldn't chastise him for being a baby, and as the sound of the lock sliding into place, trapping him in his cupboard he was relieved he wouldn't have to hear Aunt Petunia screeching at him to be quiet. The sound of steps going upstairs give him a small amount of freedom, falling to his side as his eyes squeeze shut, shaking as he sobs quietly, eventually becoming exhausted and falling into a deep, but restless sleep.

Harry woke up to the usual rapping of knuckles against his door, followed by the unlatching of the lock and a screech to get up and get to work. Harry's face had been buried in his pillow, face down, and had apparently covered himself up after falling asleep. He yawns, stretching out on his belly his jaw locking as his mouth opens wide, moments later sagging onto his bed and rubbing his face into his pillow. Another moment later and his arms slide up alongside his head, pushing himself up and bringing his knee up to help him sit up on the side of his bed, stretching again. He finished his gesture by ruffling his hair, habit having him bend to pick up his socks and pick a spider off them, web sticking from one and connecting to the other. His eyes felt unusually heavy today, had he been crying again?

He wondered what for as he tugged a shirt over his head, pulling on his pants as he stands. Yawning again, he opens the cupboard door softly, his socked feet muffling his steps as he walked into the kitchen, Dudley still asleep, Uncle Vernon reading the newspaper, Aunt Petunia was arranging a vase of flowers, apparently trying to color coordinate them. Neither of them look up when he enters, so he simply goes about making the breakfast Aunt Petunia had the ingredients set out for.

He nearly had it completed when Dudley came downstairs, took one look at Harry, and gasped, taking rushing back until his back was against the wall, one hand at his throat and the other pointed at Harry, making a strangled noise. This quickly prompted Uncle Vernon to look up, his jaw dropping, and Aunt Petunia to whirl around, still holding the vase only for her fingers to slip and send glass water and flowers showering into bits across her feet and the floor. Harry didn't know what had happened to set them off, but his eyes were flipping from one person to the next, over and over, beginning to panic. Especially when Uncle Vernon storms over, nearly knocking the table out of the way. He' grabbed by his hair, Uncle Vernon tugging more than a couple strands out as he yanks at it, "What did you do? You blasted little fucker! Cupboard! Now! Stay until school!"

As he's speaking, he's dragging Harry, practically throwing him back into his cupboard, Harry hitting his head on the back wall, sending a few spiders falling onto his bed, along with a fair bit of dust. Now he remembered. As the lock slams into place, he starts habitually picking the spiders off his bed and setting them on the floor. He could hear his Aunt and Uncle arguing, while telling Dudley to go into the living room and eat his breakfast. He had no idea how he had grown his hair back so fast, running his fingers through his hair. It wasn't quite as long as before, but it was even, and he found he liked it better than it was before. He simply sat on his bed, waiting.

Eventually, Aunt Petunia opened his door, holding what looked to be a particularly lumpy blanket. "What's that?" "Don't ask questions, Dudley didn't like the sweater Marge sent him, so you get a new sweater to wear on your way to school." She took the sweater by the shoulders and shook it out. It was hideous, patterned with gaudy orange fluff balls. "I'm not wearing that." "Don't argue with me."

Aunt Petunia immediately tried to force it over his head, and Harry began to panic. He only barely managed to somehow avoid one embarrassment, there was no way he was going to throw away the chance to go to school without being ridiculed for something, so he fought back. His hands coming up and holding the sweater off his shoulders, Aunt petunia continuing to struggle to get it on him, forcing him to lie back as she loomed over him, both grunting with effort as Harry and his Aunt wrestle for their cause. As the struggle continues, the sweater feels tighter and tighter around his head, so he had quite an easy time pushing it back off his head, where it shrinks a tiny bit more, so his face squishes when Aunt petunia tries again, but it won't budge.

She stops, pulling the now tiny doll sized sweater back to stare at it, Harry staring at it as well. What was going on with him?! He then begins to sweat, staring up at his Aunts face with his own filled with dread. She stands up, still staring at the sweater. "Get ready to go. You'll return to your cupboard when you get back."

Harry thought about al the things that had been happening. He'd never seen Dudley or any of Dudley's gang do anything like that… shrinking sweaters… teleporting on top of the school…. Growing out his hair overnight… nothing. Were the Dursley's right? Was he really a freak? Maybe that was why they kept him hidden away, under the stairs. Maybe… maybe if he stopped doing it they'd treat him better. No… no that would never work, they would just assume they were doing the right thing and never let him out. He spent days agonizing over what to do, long enough that the Dursley's finally let him out of his cupboard to eat, but he still wasn't sure what to think. Maybe he was overthinking it all, maybe the sweater shrunk because of Harry's sweat and how much stress it was under with Aunt Petunia trying to force it on him… maybe the wind caught him on the way up as he jumped… maybe it was stress that made his hair grow… it was the only thing that made sense.

Most of Harry's teachers didn't look at him twice, a spare few took his baggy clothes and all around messy looking features to mean he was a troublemaker, after all, the Dursley's claimed he was mentally unstable at every given opportunity. One teacher in particular, Harry really didn't care for. He droned on and on, every raised hand met with a long sigh and a condescending treatment. To add to his already quite horrendous personality, he was quite ugly, a pot belly, a cheese face, and an obviously fake toupee. Harry was lost in thought, something that happened occasionally, his mind still wondering about whether or not he needed to be concerned.

His eyes drift up to the teachers wig, the brown color flat, quite boring actually, but it matched the man wearing it. Harry began to wonder what he would do if he ever had to wear one of those dreadful things. He doubted he'd pick one with the intention of it looking real, if he were going to wear a wig it would be to have a bit of fun with it. Maybe have it be a bright odd color. As his mind takes down this path, his teacher slowly registers that he has lost him, moving over behind him, and as he passed Harry, he suddenly feels a sharp pain on the back of his head, causing him to flinch and cover the sore patch with his hand, glaring up at the gloating face of his teacher, "Pay attention, Mr. Potter, you're hear to learn, not to daydream." Harry, continues to glare at him, thinking of how much he would love to humiliate him , comment about his stupid wig, lash out even in the slightest. Just as he thinks this, several of the other students gasp, making Harry blink.

His eyes look up, and suddenly widen considerably. The wig… it was… Harry was dumbfounded. "What did you do to me you little shit, turn it back right now!" Harry simply stares, horror struck as he realizes what he's done. "I…. I didn't… I don't know…" Of course he didn't believe him, the man's crater filled face blushing a hideous purple as he writes out a note for Harry to bring to the Dursley's to sign. Harry's heart drops straight to his stomach when he thinks about telling them about what happened. What if they never let him out of his cupboard? He would really starve to death… his hands shake as he grips the paper on the walk home, reading it over for the countless time. How was he going to explain it away? He had no idea how he'd tuned it blue… His throat was awfully dry, and he hesitated outside the door.

He could try to forge their signature… yeah… they didn't need to know. He hides the paper in his sleeve, still shaking. However, as soon as he enters the kitchen, Dudley's eyes land on him, and his face spreads into a huge smile, and he looks right at his mother, "Mum… did you hear? Harry got in trouble today… I hear the teacher gave him a note… someone said he did something weird again, but this time in front of the whole class!" Of course…. Dudley could always be counted on to squeal… he was a pig in every other sense of the word too.


	2. Chapter 2

**This is mainly a reiteration of Dudley's birthday, with a little more thought put into Harry's mindset. It doesn't change the story at all, but it does give quite a look into how he looks at friendship, and of course we get to meet Nagini before Voldemort got his hands on her. No smut.**

Harry tried not to think about anything anymore. Even the slightest stray thought might trigger another odd unexplainable thing. Even so, he often couldn't help it, and was constantly catching himself getting lost in thought, thinking about one thing or another. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia seemed to watch him more carefully, seeing how his actions had leaked his unusual antics into the public eye more than once, they guarded their reputation more fiercely than ever. In fact, the first day he even had enough space to breathe without being stared at was Dudley's birthday, and that was only because… well…. Dudikins required their full attention. The way they treated him made Harry want to gag, he wondered how Dudley could even stand how sickeningly sweet Aunt Petunia made her voice sound. It would be all too easy to mock him for it, but today would probably go a lot smoother if he did his best to behave.

Dudley was Harry's polar opposite, in every possible way, which was probably why everyone seemed to like the fat lummox so much. As Dudley starts to complain about his mountain of presents, half of which he would probably use once before stuffing it in his toy room to gather dust, Harry makes the family breakfast. Of course, Dudley changes his tune when Piers shows up, his other dumb cronies unable to fit in the car with the rest of them. Harry retreats to his cupboard, doing his homework, the door open so he doesn't overheat in the summer day. This enables him to hear when Aunt Petunia's tone changes. His spirits lift insurmountably, but he says nothing, not wanting to spoil his chance. Mrs. Figg had broken her leg, and Harry guiltily finds himself quite happy about that, but only because it made it impossible for the Dursleys to foist him off on her so they could take Dudley to the Zoo.

As his aunt and uncle struggle to find someone to take him for the day, Harry finds himself struggling not to smile. Maybe if the Dursley's hadn't put so much effort behind convincing everyone he was mentally unstable, they would be able to get rid of him easier. In the end, they inevitably fail, And he only gets screamed at once on the way to the zoo, though Uncle Vernon makes it quite plain that he was under close observation today, not that that was anything new. He keeps himself a few steps back from the happy family giving himself a chance to enjoy himself for once. He'd never been anywhere like this before, the Dursley's had always managed to find someone to take him whenever Dudley got a treat like this, not that the fatso appreciated it, more entertained by throwing his soggy ice-cream cone at the apes than the way they looked, one scratching his head and making Harry burst out laughing at its resemblance to a confused hairy version of his cousin. Harry could have stared at the animals all day, the only thing tearing his hungry curiosity driven gaze away was the prodding of his Aunt, who kept him on her radar for the first few stops but the both slowly began to focus on Dudley instead, leaving Harry alone, but following along behind them nonetheless.

The day was winding to an end, and Dudley was getting a little sunburnt, Harry didn't mind the fact that his skin felt like it was burning, he never wanted this day to end. However, Aunt Petunia was starting to fret, as a bit of a compromise, they headed into one of the Reptile Exhibits, out of the sunlight, and slightly cooler than the outside. Harry was as fascinated by the cold blooded friends as he had been by everything else he'd seen that day, though unlike Dudley, he didn't shout or point or bang on the glass. The group grew more and more forgetful of Harry, and he found himself quite relaxed, leaning his arms against a bar, his eyes traveling the length of a particularly large snake, absentmindedly taking in the marvelous creature, and he finds himself smiling. It had been so long since he'd had a moment's peace, the reprieve was nice. Harry sighs, looking over at Dudley and Piers as they torment a poor gecko by beating on the glass and scaring it. Though Harry feels bad for the little thing, he's somewhat glad Dudley had found something else to torture, to take the focus off himself. His eyes catch movement, turning his head to look as the snake raises its head, looking at Dudley, then Harry, giving him a quick wink... wait... what? Harry blinks. He stares into the snake's eyes for a moment, then looking back to make sure Dudley wasn't watching, he locks eyes with the creature, returning the gesture.

The snake rolled its eyes, making a face. Harry couldn't have understood what it was trying to say any better than if it had spoke. 'I get that all the time.' This makes Harry smile, feeling an unusual sense of camaraderie with the reptile. "I know, it must be really annoying…." Harry stops at that, having spoken without really thinking, was he really talking to a snake? As though it could understand him. But his thoughts are interrupted when the snake nods emphatically, and Harry wonders if he's simply gone a little crazy, too much sun and heat. Well, at least it was someone he could talk to, it's not like the snake was going anywhere. "Where do you come from, anyway?..." He figured this was the best way to kick off a new relationship, getting to know the other person better... or in this case snake. The reptile lifts the end of his tail, gesturing as though pointing a finger at the wall.

When Harry, looks, he notices the plaque, and learns his new friend is a Brazilian. He didn't know much about brazil, so he immediately asks a simplistic question, wishing he could sound more clever. "Was it nice there?..." AS he says this, he receives another point towards the plaque, and the display lets him know that this particular snake was raised in captivity. "Oh, I see. So you've never been to Brazil?" Harry feels suddenly sad, empathy turning to pity, and he envisions himself as a snake, raised by human's. Kept hidden and isolated from the world, kept in a cage out of harms way, where he couldn't hurt anyone. But surely this snake wasn't all that bad? It looked friendly enough, it wasn't launching itself at the glass like a crazed beast... Harry wondered what it would do if someone set it loose.

"DUDLEY! MR. DURSLEY! COME AND LOOK AT THIS SNAKE! YOU WON'T BELIEVE WHAT IT'S DOING!", Harry's face suddenly hits the floor, his glasses only just barely saved by his quick reflexes. He rolls onto his back, looking up at Piers and Dudley smooshing their faces to the glass, the snakes eyes locked on Harry, a look of concern on it's face. Harry's heart shutters, his eyes welling up as he realizes that the only living creature that cared about him was trapped in a cage, doomed to live out the rest of its life in captivity, and it broke his heart. This changes in an instant, Dudley and Piers suddenly screaming and running backwards, leaving Harry dumbfounded. The snake blinks a few times, flicking out her tongue, then slithers forward, twining her way between Harry's legs, bringing her scaly face inches from Harry's, flicking at his nose with her tongue once before doing a 180 and hightailing it out of the exhibit. Even over the piercing screams, Harry's ears ring with the soft voice he'd just heard whispering to him. "Brazil, here I come… Thanksss, amigo."

 **This wasn't a part of the book, but is entirely from my imagination, no smut yet, but simply want to give a better grasp of what Harry is feeling.**

Harry had been confined to his cupboard for almost two full days now, Aunt Petunia only letting him out to use the bathroom, time he also took to drink from the sink faucet. The way they saw it, Harry had intended for the snake to bite Dudley out of jealousy, the fact that it had simply slithered off irrelevant. Harry spent mot of his time sleeping, or whenever sleep eluded him, he'd stare at the underside of the stairs, letting his mind wander.

Slowly slowly, they give him back his freedom, just enough so he could start doing his chores again, Aunt Petunia falling behind without Harry. When they finally let him eat something, three days have passed, and it's nowhere near enough to satisfy him. After another couple days of their light feedings, he can't stand the hunger any longer, Aunt Petunia making dinner for her husband and Dudley while Harry was vacuuming the entryway. He had to find a way to get food without the Dursley's knowing. There was no way he could get away with it during the day, Aunt Petunia was home all day, but they locked him in at night. If only there was a way for him to open the door from the inside.

As he vacuums, his eyes are glued to the lock on his door, studying it. The door had thin horizontal strips in a shutter like pattern, the openings underneath wide enough for him to just barely squeeze his fingers through without getting stuck. The lock latch was fairly simple to open and close from the outside, similar to a bathroom stall, but impossible to reach with nothing but his fingers.

his work had led him out into the living room, getting squawked at by Dudley when he'd had to cross the TV, Harry's face furrowed as he tried to think of a way out. His ears perked as he worked in the living room, Dudley and Uncle Vernon watching the news.

Police have arrested a man in Surrey, a Jordan Michells, accused of breaking into over 20 different cars using a coat hanger. The man was caught when one of the cars he was attempting to rob, had their side airbag activated, sending the hanger into his face, causing serious but nonfatal injuries.

Harry blinked at that, turning his head to catch a glimpse of what looked like a metal string before going right back to his work. He would have never thought of using a hanger to break into a car... He blinks again, maybe... maybe he could fit a metal hanger through the gap on his door. As he finishes up vacuuming in the hallway, he opens up the hall closet, Aunt Petunia outside at the moment, watering her flowers, Uncle and Dudley too busy watching TV to pay him any mind. There were plenty of hangers to choose from, but only a sparse few were metal, Harry having to stand on his tiptoes to get one down, looking back to make sure no one was looking before tucking it under his shirt and finally putting away the vacuum.

Harry finishes the rest of his chores like that. Occasionally having to adjust the hanger so it doesn't fall, trying hard not to sweat so he doesn't look guilty. By the time he finished, he was incredibly nervous, and had to force himself to walk casually, instead of running to his cupboard. Shutting the door behind him, he takes out the metal and tucks it under his pillow instead. He would have to wait until the Dursley's went to bed before he could attempt to unravel it, after all, they would take it from him if they caught him with it.

Harry's hands were sore, bleeding in one or two spots from the sharp end digging into his fingers, but he'd finally managed to unravel the coil, and he held a flimsy looking strip with a small hook o the end, having tightened it to help grip the latch. Standing up to the door, Harry takes a deep breath, hoping that this wasn't just a waste of his effort.

The hooked end slides through the opening fairly easily, but without much wiggle room, Harry bending thee strip as he feeds it through, suddenly jerking in surprise when the hook scrapes against the door. He freezes for a moment, the loud snoring from above letting him breathe again, before he tries turning the strip to angle the hook higher, sliding it over to get it closer to the latch. It's much harder than he'd thought it be, the thin opening not giving him much room to maneuver, having to pause to bend the strip to get it to go it the right direction. Harry begins to wonder if he'd under thought this, beginning to get frustrated with himself and the hanger.

He'd been at it for 20 minutes now, and it was getting slowly closer, but the pace was frustrating, and Harry had the growing urge to just yank it out and chuck it against the wall. But just as he was about to do so, his hanger hits metal. Harry's breath catches and he freezes for a minute, scared to move incase it ruined his chance. He takes a few deep breaths, trying to calm down, before he leans against the door, feeling around with his hook. Aunt Petunia left the latch up, so he'd have to maneuver it down to the middle before pushing it to the left. Harry continues to breath deeply, starting to sound as though he was in pain, which he was to point, his wrists and hand starting to feel sore from their exertion.

He can feel it as his hook catches on the latch, his hands shaking from the effort of keeping steady, feeling as the latch slowly begins to lower keeping it going until it stops, then dragging it left, Harry grunt s his wrist cramps, struggling to keep moving through the pain until it can go no further. Harry lets out his breath in a huff, relaxing his hands slowly so as not to send the metal crashing into the door. Harry doesn't pull it out, leaving it to hang securely in the strip, slowly pushing the door open. He'd done it... he'd actually done it…

Harry is very careful with the food he takes, taking a little bit of quite a lot of different things, knowing better than to try an of Dudley's sweet treats, the fatty would notice their loss right away. The meatloaf they had had for dinner still had a small trace of warmth in it, and he eats an entire banana, knowing Dudley didn't care for fruit anyway. Once he couldn't possibly stomach anymore, he made sure to put everything back the way it had been. Checking the time, he notices he still had more than enough time before the Dursley's would even stir. He turns toward the back door, heading out into the yard and laying on his back, staring up at the night sky.

He'd never seen the stars before. At least, he didn't remember ever seeing the stars. Maybe his parents had shown them to him at one point or another, but Aunt Petunia always locked him up by the time it got dark, even in the winter when the sun disappeared at 6pm. Well... he was seeing them now. There were too many to count. They were so beautiful, Harry felt his eyes grow wet, but he didn't cry. Harry knew better than to lose track of time, but he found it hard to remember when faced with the prospect of leaving. He didn't care that his back was soaked with dew, his mind was enraptured by the night.

His eyes catch movement nearby, and worriedly, he looks to his left, only to find it's nothing more than a cat. Sitting up, he stares at it for a moment. It stared back, oddly stiff, though it didn't seem to be afraid of him. He'd seen people call cats by clicking their tongue and rubbing their fingers together, the Dursley's would probably shoo the cat away, calling it a mangy stray. Harry didn't have anything against cats, though Mrs. Figg had a few too many. h clicks hi tongue, the cat's ears twitching in response, seeming to study him even more sternly as a result. "I'm not going to spit at you if that's what your worried about." He holds out a hand towards the cat, "Well, if you come here I'll be more than happy to pet you for a while. Up to you." The cat folds back it's ears, looking oddly stern, but there's something Harry finds oddly respectable about the cat, though he can't quite put his finger on it.

After a few long moments, the cat slowly saunters over, its gait very businesslike and regal, like a queen heading off towards her throne. Harry finds this oddly refreshing, the cat not even bothering to smell his hand before simply taking a seat next to one of his thighs and giving him another one of her stern looks. He assumes it a girl, male cats are usually much larger. He begins to pet her carefully, keeping to the length of her spine so as not to offend her. After all, it wasn't every day he had the chance to make a new friend.

The cat was quite pretty, though it did have some unusual markings around its eyes, though Harry thinks nothing of this, after all, one of Mrs. Figg's cats had a half white half black face. Harry's eyes go back to the sky, still mindlessly petting the cat, smiling when she starts to purr, though she never once lays down, her posture flawless. Eventually, the cat stops purring, and Harry looks at her, receiving another short purr before she simply walks off, Harry feeling as though he'd been politely dismissed. He figures he's been outside long enough anyway, quietly heading back inside, being careful not to dirty the floor on his way back to his cupboard, taking almost a half hour to relock the door and hide the hangar under his bed, stripping down, hanging the wet clothes on a small hook so they dry by morning. After such a long day and a quite relaxing night, minus the nerve wracking parts, he quickly falls asleep, spent.


	3. Chapter 3

_**SMUT! WARNING! THIS CHAPTER CONTINS ADULT CONTENT! UNDER 18 MUST SKIP! CONTAINS SCENES OF A 9-10 YEAR OLD BOY MASTERBATING AND DISCOVERING HIS PENIS! DO NOT FLAG!**_

Harry no longer tries to control his daydreaming outside of class, saving his focus on reality for when he was under the teachers' gaze. Recess finds him on a swing for a while, slowly drifting back and forth as he watches the other boys run around playing together. Dudley and his gang were on the other side of the playground, bullying weak kids out of their lunch money. Harry was sure if the Dursleys gave him money Dudley would take it anyway. He's quite happy for the moment of peace, though he wishes he could play with the others, even if their wrestling looked a bit painful sometimes, Harry would be happy just to be included. His eyes follow a pair as they drop to the ground, their legs intertwining for a moment, before one moves up, straddling the chest of the other and wrapping his arms around his neck tightly, seeming to be trying to choke him out. The bottom struggles fiercely, bucking to try to get the top off him. Harry finds himself enthralled by the sight, unable to look away as the pair start to roll over each other, both vying to end up on top.

Harry stops his light swinging, his knees coming together as he continues to watch, wondering what it was that made it impossible to look anywhere but at the patches of skin that appear when both boy's shirts start to ride up. Harry felt weird. He couldn't quite explain to himself what it was. Almost like a fever, but without the weakness. He could practically feel his face heating up, and he finds himself embarrassed, but he has no idea why. He shuts his eyes tight, forcing his head down and away from the group of boys. Was this another one of his episodes? Was he going to turn the boy's hair blue? He peeks at them to be sure this wasn't the case, only to be even more confused when his chest feels tight, finding it hard to breathe. His lap feels oddly tight, and when he looks down to try to find out why, he finds his pants much less baggy than usual. Thankfully, the pants are so big on him, when he stands up, whatever is so hard doesn't really show. He knew better than to just pull his pants down to see what it was, he'd learned a long time ago that his privates were private, only to be messed with to pee or clean it. Speaking of pee, he suddenly felt like he had to go. He goes to the closest teacher and sheepishly asks to be let back inside so he could go.

It was red. Why was it red? It had never been red before... and it had never felt this hard, usually it was kind of squishy. He'd abandoned trying to use the urinal and had retreated to one of the stalls, sitting on the toilet and staring at his penis. It was starting to hurt, like a sore muscle, maybe if he rubbed it it would go down, like a sore shoulder relaxes after you rub it. He figures rubbing at it just like he would any other part of his body would probably be best, so he presses it flat to his stomach, grinding the heel of his palm down it, wincing when the pressure hurts at first. He tries it lighter, and finds this doesn't hurt at all, in fact it felt similar to when a tight muscle finally relaxed, though his penis wasn't any softer. Sighing as he continues rubbing it like that, he finds himself oddly relaxed, as though all the tension in his body was being drained into his penis.

It wasn't going down at all, and now Harry was slightly breathless, not really knowing what to do now, but his hand doesn't stop its rubbing, Harry feeling incredibly dizzy, but in a wonderful unfamiliar way. His eyes drift shut, his hand moving only slightly faster, and a few seconds later, Harry melts. Sparks fly in his mind for the briefest of moments, before he settles back into place. An odd noise escapes his mouth, a noise he'd never made in his life before, and it immediately turns his face red, his unoccupied hand flying to his mouth to silence any other traitorous sounds. His other hand feels vey slightly wet, and when Harry looks down, he sees a few drops of a strange clear liquid. Harry uses the paper to clean his hand and after another minute, his penis is as soft and squishy as ever, though he's almost afraid to touch it, in case it got hard again, after all, he had to go back outside, the teacher was waiting for her pass back.

Harry stared at the underside of the stairs, the house quiet as the Dursley's slept. He hadn't stopped thinking about what had happened at school. He looks down, his hands pulling the waistband of his pants down, exposing his soft thing. He stared at it, wondering what had caused it to get like that. His hand touches it lightly, sending tiny sparks up his spine and his eyes lock on it when it twitches in response.

So he could make it move just by touching it? His palm rests along the underside, once more pinning it up, feeling just as relaxing as the first time. He closes his eyes, lightly massaging himself this way, tempted to simply fall asleep with his hand down his pants. He gets hard fairly quickly though, and his breathing picks up only slightly, rolling onto his side and curling around his arm, making it easier to continue rubbing with minimum movement. His free hand clutches at his blanket, his mouth falling slightly open, drooling when the sparks flash for the second time, that noise only quieted by burying his mouth into his pillow. His throat trembles as he exhales, making his breath sound like he was in pain. As soon as he feels the drops of clear fluid on his hand, he slows his rubbing, the motion becoming an absentminded petting, his body sagging as sleep slowly finds him.

Harry was walking home from school a few days later, still not understanding what was going on with him, but seeing how it only ever felt good, he wasn't worried about it. Not that this meant he was going to tell anyone about it, he hadn't heard anyone talking about touching their penises, so he wasn't going to start it.

There were more than a few kids around him, Dudley nowhere to be seen for the moment, though directly in front of him were a group of girls, oddly giggly, the noise rather annoying actually. His eyes are drawn, however, to the backs of their legs, one girl in particular wearing a rather short skirt. Her legs looked rather smooth, and his mind wanders, wondering what it would feel like to rub himself against them, his hands were smooth, and they felt good, legs were even smoother, so it stands to reason that that would feel even better. As he imagines himself humping at he legs like he'd seen Mrs. Figg's cats do once or twice, his pants get tight, but he doesn't notice, too enraptured with his daydreaming to pay it any mind. He's suddenly and harshly yanked back to reality when he hears someone shout however, blinking, he looks around and sees multiple faces staring at him in shock and disgust, "EW! Gross... is he hard?... He's got a boner!... he's such a pervert... " Harry's face burns as he quickly bends forward, keeping his head down as he sprints away, mortified.

He couldn't believe he'd gotten hard in front of everyone. He'd really have to control his thoughts better. He couldn't think about the other kids like that when they were around him, he doubted he'd live this episode down, and even if he did, another one would have him branded a pervert forever.

Harry was straddling a boy he didn't know, they were wrestling. He had his arms wrapped around the boys neck, trying to choke him like the other boy had done. Suddenly, he's flipped on his back, the boy moving his hands down to grind both his hands against Harry's crotch, sending shivers down his spine as he quickly releases the boys neck, his moaning making the other boy laugh as the sparks fly.

A pretty girl smiles at him, sitting on a desk with her legs crossed. She says something, but he can't hear her. She gives him another bright smile and stands up before turning round, waving her skirt at him with her hands on the desk in front of her. Harry gives her a sort of hug from behind, his pants dropping of their on accord as he humps at the back of her legs, the smooth skin even better than he'd thought.

These dreams were haunting him every night. They were endless. If he rubbed it out more than once every day, then he had less dreams. But f he didn't do it at all, he'd wake up with his hand covered in that clear sticky stuff. It wasn't that bad, it felt amazing every time, it just seemed weird that he had to do this all the time. He found it easier to not get a 'boner' at school if he rubbed it out when he woke up, so it became part of his morning ritual. Aunt Petunia waking him up, massaging his penis until it went down, then going bout his day as usual.

Harry was rubbing himself in bed again, but sleep was eluding him and the sensations seemed to make it go further and further away, more focused on his boner than sleep. He'd been rubbing at it like this for over two months now, everyday, every time. It was taking longer than usual for the sparks, usually it didn't take any effort at all. Slightly frustrated, Harry tries going faster, the intense heat in his head making his hips twitch, rubbing that much more of his hand against him. It felt amazing. Harry had to cover his mouth when the sparks came, the noise louder than before, but easily quieted quickly. As Harry does it more and more over the summer, it becomes increasingly harder to rub it out, frustration making him rub it harder and harder, but eventually, he just can't get any more pressure on his back.

Harry starts to brainstorm, wishing he had a friend he could ask about all this, but with only himself, it takes some thinking. He couldn't get any more pressure because his arm wasn't strong enough, and he could only push his hips up so far, and his arm came with it anyway, so it didn't really accomplish much. The easiest logical route presents itself quite plainly, but Harry wasn't sure if it would work. He gets it hard in his usual way, rubbing it with the heel of his palm against his lower stomach, becoming breathless by the time it gets there, having no problem getting the boner, it was getting rid of it that was the hard part. Harry slows his rubbing, giving a soft grunt as he flips onto his face, and is confronted with an odd feeling.

He liked the way it felt being face down. The pillow made his breathing labored, and this type of breathing was what he used when he was close, his body shivering at that sensation and his hips start moving of their own accord, making his eyes swirl back as his penis grinds heavily into his hand, groaning as he does this again and again, and in mere seconds, his sparks fill his mind. They are different than before, slightly more intense, and its lucky his mouth is buried in the pillow, because his free hand claws at his mattress, his eye fluttering shut immediately after, sleep quickly finding him, his hands still covered in the clear sticky stuff.


	4. Chapter 4

**"They stuff people's heads down the toilet first day at Stonewall, want to come upstairs and practice?" "No, thanks, the poor toilet's never had anything as horrible as your head down it- it might be sick."**

 **'Mrs. Figg wasn't as bad as usual. It turned out she'd broken her leg tripping over one of her cats, and se didn't seem quite as fond of them as before.'**

 **"What's this?" "Your new school uniform." "Oh… I didn't realize it had to be so wet." "Don't be stupid. I'm dyeing some of Dudley's old things gray for you. It'll look just like everyone else's when I've finished."**

 **"Get the mail, Dudley." "Make Harry get it." "Get the mail, Harry." "Make Dudley get it." "Poke him with your Smelting stick, Dudley."**

 **'MR. H. POTTER-THE CUPBOARD UNDER THE STAIRS- 4 PRIVET DRIVE- LITTE WHINGING- SURREY.'**

 **"I WANT MY LETTER!"**

 **"I'm not having one in the house, Petunia! Didn't we swear when we took him in we'd stamp out that dangerous nonsense?"**

 **"There's another one! 'Mr. H. Potter, The smallest Bedroom, 4 Privet Drive-" Uncle Vernon had to wrestle Dudley to the ground to get the letter from him, which was made difficult by the fact that Harry had grabbed Uncle Vernon around the neck from behind.'**

 **"Who on earth wants to talk to YOU this badly?"**

 **"No post on Sundays..." The Dursleys ducked, but Harry leapt into the air, trying to catch one..'**

 **'MR. H. POTTER-ROOM 17- RAILVIEW HOTEL- COKEWORTH.'**

 **'The lighted dial of Dudley's watch, told Harry he'd be eleven in ten minutes' time.'**

 **'Five minutes…four minutes….three minutes… two minutes…. One minute to go and he'd be eleven… thirty seconds… twenty… ten, nine… maybe he'd wake Dudley up just to annoy him… three … two… one…. BOOM.'**

Harry couldn't believe he was being transferred to a different school… and Dudley wasn't going to be there. Sure, Stonewall was basically the most ghetto place in the cookie cutter town, but at least the sadists wouldn't be able to get near him… at least while he was at school. They'd probably still chase him when he had to go home, but for the hours he was away from home, he'd be free from Dudley and his gang. Sure… he'd probably find another group of bullies within a week… maybe a day or two… but.. There was at least something there to be happy about… he wasn't really sure what it was supposed to be… but… it was something at least…

Harry was lying in bed, Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon were up already, probably watching tv and cleaning, Dudley was probably finishing his breakfast, though there was an awful smell in the air. Apparently, Aunt Petunia would rather go through all the hard work of dying some of Dudley's old clothes grey rather than simply buy Harry something of his own that actually fit for once. Shirts and pants couldn't be that expensive could they? What would be so bad about Harry having just one simple thing of his own? Sure it would have to be grey, the Stonewall uniform was pretty dull, but at least it would have been his…

Dudley was such a pompous ass.. Harry was truly sick of how the lard acted as though rainbows and butterflies fell out of his butt. That uniform made him look ridiculous… like someone had put a suit on a pig then slapped a blonde wig on his head…and that stick… god he hated that stick. What were those adults thinking? Giving a boy like Dudley a bloody weapon! Surely they realized the lout didn't need their help in that department, he managed to cause quite enough pain with nothing but his fists. The worst part was that it removed the slight satisfaction he got when he saw Dudley's bruised knuckles, hurting himself on Harry's face.

Harry heard the mail slot open and close, not really concerning himself with the noise, after all, he never got anything in the mail, so he didn't bother looking anymore. When he first learned the concept of mail and letters, he'd eagerly awaited a letter from someone. His imagination had run wild, that some sea captain would end him a report of a long oversea voyage, or a soldier would write to ask for emotional support, or… his real family sending word that they were coming to take him away,…something…. Anything.. But nothing. Not one letter in his nearly eleven years… that he could remember. After a while, he stopped waiting, and he stopped wanting anything. If the Dursleys were this cruel to him, surely there was a good reason for him to be isolated.

"Get the mail, Dudley." This brings out a pompous sounding, "Make Harry get it." Harry scoffs, of course he wouldn't do it. Did Uncle actually expect him to do it? "Get the mail Harry." Uncle Vernon's voice carries well around the corner, Luckily Harry's expression is out of sight, disgust as he lifts up, his mouth moving before he thinks. "Make Dudley get it." Harry blushes in surprise when he realizes what he just said, the temporary silence enough to let him know they had heard him, a harsh "Poke him with your Smelting Stick Dudley" Having him up, feeling odd, exasperated with the relentless badgering. They couldn't even get Dudley to do this small simple task.

Sighing, he picks up a small bundle of letters and the newspaper, thumbing through the envelopes, seeing what they were. Bill… Bill… Junk… a postcard from Aunt Marge, ugh….Bill… a letter for… wait. This couldn't be right…'MR. H. POTTER-THE CUPBOARD UNDER THE STAIRS- 4 PRIVET DRIVE- LITTE WHINGING- SURREY.' Harry stares at the envelope for what feels like nothing, but in reality, it's long enough for Uncle Vernon to get impatient, "Hurry up boy, It shouldn't take all morning just to fetch a bit of mail. Surely even you can handle the task." Thoughtlessly, Harry's body moves, but his mind is a million miles away.

This had to be a mistake. A mislabeled letter. He should give it to uncle Vernon so it could be returned to it's proper owner, the person the letter was supposed to be addressed to… but… if it was meant for someone else… how would they know about his cupboard? He had told no one about it… maybe it was a prank from the Dursley's… but they didn't have a sense of humor that complex. His body moves automatically, handing off the rest of the mail to his uncle, not hearing anything that was said. There was only one way to find out whether or not it was real, if he really did have someone out there who wanted to contact him. He slips his thumb into the crease, biting his lip, he manages to tear a small strip right at the corner before the envelope is suddenly ripped from his hands and his eyes go wide in shock.

Instantly he's panicky, "Give it back! It's mine!" Three pairs of eyes meet his, and he realizes what he just said. 'MINE'. This was really the first thing he could truly claim was his, and it was in his Uncles hands. "Yours? Who'd be writing to y-ou…" Harry watches as his uncle quickly reveals with nothing more than his face that something was very, VERY wrong. Harry had to find out what the letter said. Judging by his reaction, harry could tell… his uncle wasn't going to let him have it. He clenches his fists, staring longingly at the envelope. It was the first thing… EVER, that was his and only his… and he wasn't going to get it. "Get out…" Harry blanched. There was no way he was leaving without his… HIS letter. His mouth falls open as his body trembles in fury, and it's only after his uncle turns purple with a mirrored rage, his Aunt looks shocked, and Dudley just looks speechless that he realizes that he'd just shouted at them. His brows go up as he realizes he just ensured he would never see what the letter said.

A few minutes later, and he's in his cupboard, locked inside. His mind lingers on the letter, knowing by the time he got out his uncle would have gotten rid of it somehow. Who would want to talk to him? What did they want to tell him? Even if it was just something stupid, like an ad wanting him to become a member of something he'd never heard of before… like a volunteer at an animal shelter. Obviously he was too young for most things… even if he was almost eleven… but really he had no idea what it could be about. Harry sighs, laying back on his bed with his arms behind his head. He was slowly resigning himself to the fact that, whatever it was, he would never know for certain. What really surprised him, is Dudley got kicked out too. But the fact that he was shouting to see a letter that didn't even say his name, but of course the nosy fuck had to want to see it too. At least he knew if Vernon didn't want Harry knowing, he wouldn't tell Dudley.

His mind turns to what he had heard, his Uncle and Aunt arguing over his letter. They had sounded terrified… what was going on? What had uncle meant? 'I'm not having one in the house!' One? One what? What was so bad about Harry getting a letter? What was he? Something had to be wrong with him. Maybe… maybe he was just crazy… maybe they had a reason to keep him locked in a cupboard. Was he dangerous? Was that it? Maybe… maybe all those things that happened… the things he couldn't explain… were all in his head… maybe. Maybe when he'd suddenly teleported… he'd just… made it up… blacked out. Maybe the snake had never escaped… never turned the wig blue… never grew his hair back overnight… never shrank that sweater… was anything real? Harry was staring up at the underside of the stairs, his hands gripping his hair in exasperating frustration, unable to low his racing mind. 'Calm down, Harry,' He thought to himself, 'running yourself in circles until you are REALLY crazy won't solve anything…' finding it hard to follow his own advise, his panic lingers for quite a while, his breath uneven and harsh until he finally manages to stop his mind by focusing every last bit of his brain power on a spider making its way down the stairs.

Before the end of the night however, Uncle Vernon did something he'd never done, and looked quite sheepish as he spoke to Harry, standing at the door of his cupboard. Ever since he could remember, Harry had wanted a bedroom, a REAL bedroom, not just a cupboard. But he'd never known why they kept him under the stairs, out of sight and out of mind. But honestly, all he could think about was that letter. Who had tried to contact him? It was enough to nearly drive him mad, and a thought crosses his mind, making him laugh as he lays back, failing to fall asleep in the unfamiliar room. He would gladly trade being in this room without his letter, for being back in his cupboard and reading it right at this moment.

How had something he didn't know existed yesterday suddenly become so important to him? He should be grateful for it's appearance, it was obviously the only reason they let him sleep in a bedroom out in the open for once, not even locked in at night. No matter how hard he tries however, he simply can't fall asleep. So instead of fighting a worthless battle, he gets up, smirking at how easy it was to get out… just… opening the door. He sort of helps himself to the food in the fridge, leaving the door open as he kneels, his ankles straightened completely and supporting his seat. The drawers opened halfway, a few packets of different types of lunchmeat in his lap. He tears a few strips off each different type, small enough that their loss will go unnoticed, doing the same with cheese, two slices out of the middle of a bread loaf easy to remove, forming a simple but delicious looking sandwich. He puts everything back, careful not to make too much noise before he stands up and closes the door, the sandwich held in one hand as he heads out into the backyard, reclining on his back as he stares up at the stars.

Since he'd first started coming out here at night, he'd done some research into astronomy, and he'd memorized a few of the signs, especially his own. With July 31st as his birthday, he searches for his sign, his eyes tracing the form of it easily, the lion making him smile. He wasn't really sure what it meant… being a Leo… but it was nice to at least know something about himself, to separate himself from the Dursley's, but reconnect him to humanity. There were tons and tons of Leo's in the world, and being one of that number was reassuring, even if he didn't know any in person. The other constellations help soothe him as well, Orion's belt… his eyes drifting down to the brightest star…. Sirius, the dog star… the big and little dippers… hmm… the north star was in the little dipper… what was it called again?... Pole… polar… Polarity…. Pol-… Polaris! He smiles as his eyes drift, finding another formation between the two. Draco, the dragon. He hums, smiling slightly wider.

Tomorrow morning came with a slightly more dismal atmosphere for Harry than usual. He occupied his time confined to the living room cleaning, a haggard looking rag rubbing over the furniture, the polish making everything shiny and irritating to look at. Uncle Vernon didn't want him anywhere near the mail slot until after the mail was delivered for the day, just in case the person who had sent the previous letter had sent more than one. Though not surprisingly, he wasn't really willing to get up to deal with it himself, after all, only a single day had passed. So when the mail slot clicks into place, Uncle Vernon sends Dudley to retrieve it, and his sour expression is almost enough to compensate for the fact that Dudley would be the one to see it first if there was ano-…

"There's another one! 'Mr. H. Potter, The smallest Bedroom, 4 Privet Drive-" Harry's body tingles out of nowhere; the knowledge, that whoever had sent the letter yesterday somehow knew they needed to send another, propelling him forward after his Uncle. Uncle Vernon had to wrestle Dudley to the ground to get the letter from him, which was made difficult by the fact that Harry had grabbed Uncle Vernon around the neck from behind. Harry had no idea how he'd gotten to that point but he doesn't let go until his diminutive strength runs out, and he's left panting on the floor with a black eye from Dudley's smelting stick, his uncle's nose bleeding from the same.

As the week went on, Harry had a small flicker of hope that maybe… just maybe, he'd find a letter before the Dursley's did. But it never happened. Time after time, the letters always found themselves in either Aunt Petunia's, Uncle Vernon's, or Dudley's hands: quickly snatched by his uncle when the latter was the case. The fact that the letters had found themselves inside EGGS really concerns him, and Dudley eventually sums up Harry's feelings on the matter quite well, when he finally asks, "Who on earth wants to talk to YOU this badly?" Harry begins to wonder if they would ever give up trying to contact him, after all, it was getting fairly depressing, the fact that no matter how hard they tried to sneak them past the Dursley's, they were failing.

Sunday however, was nearly a relief. He didn't have to keep an eye out for stray letters, simply because there would be none, or so he thought. With this mindset in place, the sudden shower of envelopes with his name on them takes him by just as much surprise as it does the Dursley's. Harry's thoughts on his luck regarding the letters sinks lower, when after all that, he still ended up without one. Though it's only due to his uncle locking him in the cupboard during the rest off his uncle's tantrum. He sat there while the rest of them started packing, Uncle's face probably still bleeding from tearing out his mustache. When Aunt Petunia opened his door, she was shaking, the whole situation putting her nerves on edge, so she has no patience for Harry, her face pulled tight as she scowls at him, constantly screeching at him to hurry as he packed what few clothes he could fit into an old spare suitcase before the family piled into the car and Uncle took off speeding.

Harry wished the letters would stop coming. The Dursley's were even more foul when you're forced into close quarters with them, at least before he could avoid them, but now… there was no escaping them. Dudley was just as miserable as Harry, missing his shows, missing breakfast, sore and stiff from the car ride . Maybe by the time they went home whoever it was would give up, and he could go back to his life, maybe they'd even let him stay in the room, he didn't count on it though. The prospect of spending the night in the same room as Harry was about as appealing to the Dursley's as it was for Harry to spend it with the Dursley's, though at least he didn't have to share a bed with Dudley, the snoring itself would be bad enough, as if sleeping on the floor was a treat.

When Harry learns what has happened, his insides are frozen. They were being watched. They knew, with undying certainty that Harry wasn't getting his letters. They knew the Dursley's were on the run, and still… Harry couldn't get one. Would they ever give up? Would they chase them forever until the Dursley's were driven to truly desperate measures? But as Harry watched his uncle, his tense, talking to himself nervously uncle, He thought to himself, things seem pretty desperate already. 'MR. H. POTTER-ROOM 17- RAILVIEW HOTEL- COKEWORTH.' That's what he'd seen on the letter when he glimpsed at it, before his uncle took it. They knew exactly where they were. Harry found himself… afraid. What would happen when they succeeded? What could possibly be so dire about Harry that ANYONE would go to this length to simply sent him a letter? He must really be dangerous, for what other reason could there be?

This was a hell of a way to start counting down to a birthday, not that he got much of a celebration anyway, but this had to be the worst birthday he'd had yet. Lying on the cold, wet, hard floor of the shack, listening to the Dursley men snore. He found himself wishing the letters had never come in the first place. If no one had tried to contact him, he'd be warm in his bed under the stairs, he'd have had something substantial in his belly and would be comfortable instead of miserable. Looking up, green lighted digits on Dudley's wrist told him he'd be eleven in ten minutes.


	5. Chapter 5

**"Where's the Cannon?"**

 **"Las' time I saw you, you was only a baby, yeh look a lot like yer ad, but yeh've got yer mom's eyes."**

 **"Ah, shut up, Dursley, yeh great prune…. Anyway- Harry, a very happy birthday to yeh."**

 **"Who are you?" "True, I haven't introduced meself, Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts."**

 **"Do you mean ter tell me, that this boy- this boy!- knows nothin' abou'… abou' ANYTHING?" Harry thought this was going a bit far. He had been to school, after all, and his marks weren't bad. "I know SOME things, I can, you know, do math and stuff."**

 **"Ah, go boil yer heads, both of yeh, Harry- yer a Wizard." "I'm a WHAT?"**

 **'HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY- HEADMASTER: Albus Dumbledore (Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Coned. Of Wizards) Dear Mr. Potter, We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than June 31. Yours sincerely, Minerva McGonagall, DEPUTY HEADMISTRESS.'**

 **"You knew? You KNEW I'm a… a Wizard?"**

 **"Nah… can't spell it. All right… Voldemort. Don't make me say it again."**

 **"You-know-who killed 'em. An' then.. An' this is the real myst'ry of the thing… he tried to kill you, too. But he couldn't do it. Never wondered how you got that mark on yer forehead? That was no ordinary cut. That's what yeh get when a powerful, evil curse touches yeh… took care of yer mum an' dad an' yer house, even… but it didn't work on you, an' that's why yer famous, Harry. The McKinnons, the Bones, the Prewetts… an' you was only a baby, an' you lived."**

 **'He saw again the blinding flash of green light, more clearly than he had ever remembered it before… and he remembered something else, for the first time in his life: a high, cold, cruel laugh.'**

 **"Disappeared. Vanished. Same night he tried to kill you. Makes yeh even more famous. Some say he died… Dunno if he had enough human left in him to die. I dunno what it was, no one does… but somethin' about you stumped him, all right."**

 **"Not a wizard, eh? Never made things happen when you was scared or angry?..." "See? Harry Potter, not a wizard… you wait, you'll be right famous at Hogwarts."**

 **"It was a dream… I dreamed a giant called Hagrid came to tell me I ws going to a school for wizards. When I open my eyes I'll be at home in my cupboard." and there's aunt petunia knocking on the door…'**

 **"Wizards have BANKS?... GOBLINS?... How did you get here?...FLEW?...Why would you be mad to try and rob Gringotts?...There's a Ministry of Magic?...But what does a Ministry of Magic DO?... Why?...Did you say there are DRAGONS at Gringotts?...You'd LIKE one?...Can we buy all this in London?"**

 **'UNIFORM-FIRST YEAR STUDENTS WILL REQUIRE: 1. Three sets of plain work robes(black) 2. One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear 3. One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar) 4. One winter cloak (black, silver fastenings) Please Note All Pupils' Clothing Should Carry Name Tags. COURSE BOOKS- ALL STUDENTS SHOULD HAVE A COPY OF EACH OF THE FOLLOWING: The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1) A History of Magic, Magical Theory, A Beginners' Guide to Transfiguration, One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi, Magical Drafts and Potions, Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection. OTHER EQUIPMENT- 1 Wand, 1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2) 1 Set glass or crystal phials, 1 telescope, 1 set brass scales. Students May Also Bring an Owl OR a Cat OR A Toad. PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS.'**

 **"This is it, the Leaky Cauldron. It's a famous place."**

 **"Bless my soul, Harry Potter… what an honor."**

 **"Professor Quirrell! Harry, Professor Quirrell will be one of your teachers at Hogwarts."**

 **"D-Defense Against the D-D-Dark Arts, N-not that you n-need it, eh, P-P-Potter? "**

 **"Is he always that nervous?" "Oh, yeah. Poor bloke. Brilliant mind. He was fine while he was studyin' otta books but then he took a year off ter get some first hand experience… They say he met vampires in the Black Forest, and there was a nasty bit o' trouble with a hag.. Never been the same since. Scared of the students, scared of his own subject…"**

 **"Welcome to Diagon Alley."**

 **"The gold ones are Galleons. Seventeen silver Sickles to a Galleon and twenty-nine Knuts to a Sickle, it's easy enough."**

 **"Might as well get yer uniform, said Hagrid, nodding toward Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions. "Listen, Harry, Would yeh mind if I slipped off fer a pick-me-up in the Leaky Cauldron? I hate them Gringotts carts." He did still look a bit sick, so Harry entered Madam Malkin's shop alone, feeling nervous.**

 **Madam Malkin was a squat, smiling witch dressed all in mauve. "Hogwarts, dear?" she said, when Harry started to speak. "Got the lot here, another young man being fitted up just now, in fact." In the back of the shop, a boy with a pale, pointed face was standing on a footstool while a second witch pinned up his long black robes. Madam Malkin stood Harry on a stool next to him, slipped a long robe over his head, and began to pin it to the right length.**

Harry had nearly leapt out of his skin at the thundering boom, the noise loud enough to be heard distinctly above the thunder and crashing waves. The door crashing to the floor revealing the giant man coming in over it, sunk Harry's heart, his mind racing. "Oh god! We're all gonna die! What do I do? What do I do!?" It then comes to a shock when he simply pick up the door and replaces it, stating a simple but obviously sincere apology, seeming to think all was well with the inhabitant of the shack he just entered.

Things only get weirder from there, Harry seeming to get nearly all of the man's, Hagrid as he had stated his name to be, attention. A birthday cake just for him. He didn't know what to think, how to act, or what to say… though his mind had more than a few questions in mind. But instead of answers, he gets something much less easy to deal with. "I-…I'm… a what?" No. No it couldn't be true. Harry just wanted to be normal, to be able to make friends more like himself. With his head turned down, he sighs, resigning himself to just accept the fact that he wasn't normal, he could never be normal, because something was wrong with him. This Hagrid… from the place called hog-….Hog warts? What a peculiar name for anywhere…. He seemed quite upset that this was the first time Harry was labeled with something… anything…. But Harry didn't buy it. That is, until Hagrid pulled out from his pocket the one thing he'd been fixated on since that first day… his letter. His hands trembled slightly when they first make contact looking to his Aunt and uncle as though seeking approval, though no matter the fact that they both looked furious, he was going to open the letter.

"HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY- HEADMASTER: Albus Dumbledore (Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Coned. Of Wizards) Dear Mr. Potter, We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than June 31. Yours sincerely, Minerva McGonagall, DEPUTY HEADMISTRESS." Harry read aloud, his mind swirling with possibilities. Could this really be the answer? Was this the missing piece to his identity he'd been searching for? No… this was too good to be true. He scowls bitterly, handing the letter back to Hagrid. "I'm sorry… there must be some mistake… I'm not a wizard… I can't be…. Magic isn't real." this statement was greeted with a short silence, then a sharp uproar as Hagrid begins to verbally abuse his Uncle using some words Harry didn't know, and a few curse words he knew very well.

Suddenly, it hits him. His aunt and uncle knew. They knew he was different, that there was something about him to fear, to try locking away out of shame. "You knew? You KNEW I'm a…" his mind is racing, struggling to accept the truth. But there was no other explanation for the things he had done, always getting into trouble for things he couldn't control. "A…Wizard?" There… he'd said it… there was no going back now, harry knew that. He only hoped that this didn't mean he was going to be isolated like he'd been, or worse. They wouldn't kill a kid for being a wizard would they? He's so distracted by these thoughts, that Aunt Petunia's rant falls on deaf ears, that is until Hagrid speaks up, "A car crash?! A CAR CRASH killed Lilly and James POTTER?!" This was news to Harry, why would they hide how his parents had died? Looking quite nervous about the topic, Hagrid fills him in as best he can.

"Nah… can't spell it. All right… Voldemort… Don't make me say it again…You-know-who killed 'em. An' then.. An' this is the real myst'ry of the thing… he tried to kill you, too. But he couldn't do it. Never wondered how you got that mark on yer forehead? That was no ordinary cut. That's what yeh get when a powerful, evil curse touches yeh… took care of yer mum an' dad an' yer house, even… but it didn't work on you, an' that's why yer famous, Harry. The McKinnons, the Bones, the Prewetts… an' you was only a baby, an' you lived." He saw again the blinding flash of green light, more clearly than he had ever remembered it before… and he remembered something else, for the first time in his life: a high, cold, cruel laugh. "Disappeared. Vanished. Same night he tried to kill you. Makes yeh even more famous. Some say he died… Dunno if he had enough human left in him to die. I dunno what it was, no one does… but somethin' about you stumped him, all right. "So his parents had been murdered while trying to protect him? How could this have happened? Harry was just a boy, nothing to a full grown fully trained wizard… He should be dead. Instead he had a scar and no parents.

With the news of his parents demise seething in the back of his mind, he tries to focus on reality. He was in a boat, on his way to somewhere called Hogwarts in the company of a giant man whom he barely knew. Everything became extraordinarily surreal, Harry deciding to fall on Hagrid's mindfulness to keep himself from having a panic attack. But after a nights rest and a long enough time to get comfortable with his company, the questions started. Hagrid didn't seem to mind answering questions, and Harry didn't shy away from a single one. "Wizards have BANKS?... GOBLINS?... How did you get here?...FLEW?...Why would you be mad to try and rob Gringotts?...There's a Ministry of Magic?...But what does a Ministry of Magic DO?... Why?...Did you say there are DRAGONS at Gringotts?...You'd LIKE one?...Can we buy all this in London?" Every question was met with a straight answer, Harry was excited just to have an actual conversation without being told to be quiet. The fact that suddenly goblins and dragons existed was a footnote to the ability to simply talk for once.

When they finally got to where they were going, the leaky cauldron, a simple looking dive bar, things shifted from Harry wanting attention from Hagrid, to Harry being overwhelmed with how many people imply wanting to touch his hand in a shake. "Bless my soul, Harry Potter… what an honor." Harry didn't know how to respond to any of the people who greeted him so warmly, though one of the group was brought into focus when Hagrid pointed him out. "Professor Quirrell! Harry, Professor Quirrell will be one of your teachers at Hogwarts." Harry sized up the man before him, and found him rather a boring person to look at, but with an odd turban seeming out of place on the otherwise plain man. "Oh… Hello Professor… um, what is it that you teach exactly?"

"D-Defense Against the D-D-Dark Arts, N-not that you n-need it, eh, P-P-Potter? " Harry reaches forward to take his hand, but someone else pushes his way though and takes it instead, seeming to be hyperventilating with excitement. A few moments later, and Hagrid has to drag him out of the crowd and onward, Harry's mind still on the nervous man, wondering if there was something about himself that scared him off. "Is he always that nervous?" "Oh, yeah. Poor bloke. Brilliant mind. He was fine while he was studyin' otta books but then he took a year off ter get some first hand experience… They say he met vampires in the Black Forest, and there was a nasty bit o' trouble with a hag.. Never been the same since. Scared of the students, scared of his own subject…" Harry felt bad for him, but not for long, with the excitement of Diagon alley he quickly fades from his mind. After a bit of prompting from hagrid, he takes out his letter, reading the other side for the first time.

"UNIFORM-FIRST YEAR STUDENTS WILL REQUIRE: 1. Three sets of plain work robes(black) 2. One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear 3. One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar) 4. One winter cloak (black, silver fastenings) Please Note All Pupils' Clothing Should Carry Name Tags. COURSE BOOKS- ALL STUDENTS SHOULD HAVE A COPY OF EACH OF THE FOLLOWING: The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1) A History of Magic, Magical Theory, A Beginners' Guide to Transfiguration, One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi, Magical Drafts and Potions, Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection. OTHER EQUIPMENT- 1 Wand, 1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2) 1 Set glass or crystal phials, 1 telescope, 1 set brass scales. Students May Also Bring an Owl OR a Cat OR A Toad. PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS."

Harry had never really put any value on money, mainly because he never had a chance to spend any, but now he had more than enough, with what his parents left him. Hagrid was still looking a little woozy from the ride, "Might as well get yer uniform, said Hagrid, nodding toward Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions. "Listen, Harry, Would yeh mind if I slipped off fer a pick-me-up in the Leaky Cauldron? I hate them Gringotts carts." He did still look a bit sick, so Harry entered Madam Malkin's shop alone, feeling nervous.

Madam Malkin was a squat, smiling witch dressed all in mauve. "Hogwarts, dear?" she said, when Harry started to speak. "Got the lot here, another young man being fitted up just now, in fact." In the back of the shop, a boy with a pale, pointed face was standing on a footstool while a second witch pinned up his long black robes. Madam Malkin stood Harry on a stool next to him, slipped a long robe over his head, and began to pin it to the right length.


	6. Chapter 6

**"Might as well get yer uniform, said Hagrid, nodding toward Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions. "Listen, Harry, Would yeh mind if I slipped off fer a pick-me-up in the Leaky Cauldron? I hate them Gringotts carts." He did still look a bit sick, so Harry entered Madam Malkin's shop alone, feeling nervous.**

 **Madam Malkin was a squat, smiling witch dressed all in mauve. "Hogwarts, dear?" she said, when Harry started to speak. "Got the lot here, another young man being fitted up just now, in fact." In the back of the shop, a boy with a pale, pointed face was standing on a footstool while a second witch pinned up his long black robes. Madam Malkin stood Harry on a stool next to him, slipped a long robe over his head, and began to pin it to the right length.**

 **"Hello," said the boy, "Hogwarts, too?" "Yes," Said Harry. "My Father's next door buying my books and mother's up the street looking at wands," said the boy. He had a bored, drawling voice. "Then I'm going to drag them off to look at racing brooms. I don't see why first years cant have their own. I think I'll bully father into getting me one and I'll smuggle it in somehow." Harry was strongly reminded of Dudley. "Have YOU got your own broom?" the boy went on. "No," said Harry. "Play Quidditch at all?" "No," Harry said again, wondering what on earth Quidditch could be. "I do… Father says it's a crime if I'm not picked to play for my house, and I must say, I agree. Know what house you'll be in yet?" "No," said Harry, feeling more stupid by the minute. "Well, no one really knows until they get there, do they, but I know I'll be in Slytherin, all our family have been… Imagine being in Hufflepuff, I think I'd leave, wouldn't you?""Mmm," said Harry, wishing he could say something a bit more interesting.**

 **"I say, look at that man!" said the boy suddenly, nodding toward the front window. Hagrid was standing there, grinning at Harry and pointing at two large ice creams to show he couldn't come in. "That's Hagrid," said Harry, pleased to now something the boy didn't. "He works at Hogwarts." "Oh," said the boy, "I've heard of him. He's a sort of servant, isn't he?" "He's the gamekeeper," said Harry. He was liking the boy less and less every second. "Yes, exactly. I heard he's a sort of SAVAGE… lives in a hut on the school grounds and every now and then he gets drunk tries to do magic, and ends up setting fire to his bed." "I think he's brilliant," said Harry coldly. "DO you?" said the boy, with a slight sneer. "Why is he with you? Where are your parents?" "They're dead." said Harry shortly. He didn't feel much like going into the matter with the boy. "Oh, sorry," said the other, not sounding sorry at all. "But they were OUR kind, weren't they?" "They were a witch and a wizard, if that's what you mean." "I don't really think they should let the other sort in, do you? They're just not the same, they've never been brought up to know our ways. Some of them have never even heard of Hogwarts until they get the letter, imagine. I think they should keep it in the old wizarding families. What's your surname, anyway?" But before Harry could answer, Madam Malkin said, "That's you done, my dear," and Harry, not sorry for an excuse to stop talking to the boy, hopped down from the footstool. "Well, I'll see you at Hogwarts, I suppose," said the drawling boy.**

 **holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple…..**

Harry was nervous. This was his first time meeting someone his own age who called themselves a… Wizard. Harry still wasn't sure about the whole thing, chalking it up to having gone insane and lost it completely. So when the other boy speaks up first, Harry nearly jumps out of his skin in surprise. The blonde had simply stated, "Hello, Hogwarts too?" But Harry's nerves were so strained, he simply blurts out, "Hi! Y-yes…it's kinda stressful having to go from shop to shop just for school supplies isn't it?"

The other boy smirks at that, looking more sure of himself than Harry had ever felt, "My Father's next door buying my books and mother's up the street looking at wands," said the boy. He had a bored, drawling voice. "Then I'm going to drag them off to look at racing brooms. I don't see why first years cant have their own. I think I'll bully father into getting me one and I'll smuggle it in somehow." Harry was strongly reminded of Dudley. "Have YOU got your own broom?" the boy went on. "No," said Harry, "I've never been on a broom before, but it does sound exciting, flying through the air on a broomstick… Magic, huh?" Harry smiles nervously at his little joke, hoping he didn't sound stupid. "So you've never played Quidditch at all? "Harry shakes his head, biting his lip to keep himself from admitting he had no idea what Quidditch was. "I do… Father says it's a crime if I'm not picked to play for my house, I must say, I agree. Know what house you'll be in yet?" Harry had no idea what he meant by that, he was beginning to feel very stupid. He sighs softly, tilting his head to the ide, he looks at the other boy and asks, "House?" This gets a surprised look from the boy, "Say… What's your surname anyway?"

Finally, a question he knew how to answer, "I'm Harry, Harry Potter." The other boy seems quite shocked by this for about a nanosecond, before he regains his composure. "Well… It's nice to meet you Harry, I'm Malfoy, Draco Malfoy." Harry smiles at this, finally able to contribute to the conversation, "Oh like the constellation? Did your parents name you after the dragon?" Draco 's smirk only grew when he was asked a question, encouraging Harry to ask more, "Yes, Mother thought it was quite a noble name. everyone usually just calls me Malfoy unless my Father is nearby." Draco shrugs earning a soft sound of annoyance from the woman, "But you can just call me Draco, if you want. " Draco seemed quite eager to answer questions about himself, but seemed more interested in asking about Harry. "So who are you here with if not your parents?" Harry smiles at this, "Hagrid, the gamekeeper for Hogwarts,"

"Isn't he that man people say lives in a hut who gets drunk and starts his bed on fire?" Harry holds his tongue for a moment, not wanting to ruin his chance to make a new friend, after all, who's to say if every wizard his age was thinking the same thing about Hagrid. "Maybe, I wouldn't know… today is the first time I've heard anything about being a… well, a Wizard, I mean… it's a lot to take in all in a day," Harry sighs, feeling stupid for not knowing more. However, Draco doesn't seem that surprised, "So, that means you were raised by muggles then? How was that?" Draco's question makes Harry scoff, "It was horrible, they knew I was a wizard long before my parents died, but they were so concerned about their reputation, that they basically shut me in away from the world…. Well not basically, they did… honestly, so far being a wizard doesn't SEEM like it's a decease worth all that… but I'm rambling," He finished with a blush, feeling he'd shared waaay too much information about himself with Draco. "So you don't like these muggles you live with? That's good then, most muggles are like that, too afraid of magic to let it out. Hmph, I believe you'll fit in better than you think around here." Harry can't help but smile at that, though he does manage not to beam at him, " Thanks, I think … By the way… what did you mean when you asked me about houses?"

Harry listened intently as Draco explained all about the four houses, "Well first of all there's Slytherin, the other houses lash out at us all the time because we're so much better at everything than they are, so don't be surprised if people try to talk you out of wanting to go there. Then there's Ravenclaw, that's not great, but not bad, you have to be pretty smart to make it in there, but smarts can only get you so far in this world. Thirdly, there's Hufflepuff. Only pansys get put there, I think I'd leave if I did… and lastly, we have Gryffindor. Gryffindor and Slytherin are pretty much enemies, they spout of at the mouth about bravery but it's all just talk. The only house I want to be put in is Slytherin, my Father was there and his father before him, so it's pretty much a given. So… what house would you like?" Harry wasn't sure he really fit in any of the houses let alone one for the rest of his school career…. But obviously only one answer would do for Draco to like him. "Why Slytherin of course, it's kind of an obvious choice when you put it that way." Draco smiles at this, looking down at the witch working on his robes. "Glad to hear it. Would be such a shame otherwise, my father says it's the only one worth finding yourself in, and he's a highly respected wizard in the world you find yourself in, so you're in luck that you find yourself in my presence."

Harry wasn't sure if everyone was as sure of themselves as this Malfoy boy, but the leadership role Draco easily put into place was comforting, Harry's nerves slowly subsiding. However, he doesn't completely let himself fade into the background, asking Draco, "So… What's Quidditch?" Draco laughs at this, a sharp but smooth sound before summarizing the sport. "Well…it's difficult to explain to someone who was raised by muggles, but for you, I'll do my best." Draco sighs, gathering his thoughts, "So… there are three different types of balls in the game, the quaffle, the bludger, and the snitch. Chasers try to get the quaffle through three hoops guarded by a keeper, while beaters keep the bludgers from hitting the chasers on their team while trying to hit the opposite team. This is made more difficult by the fact that the bludgers are enchanted to zoom around and try to hit players off their brooms. Lastly, the snitch is a golden golf ball sized ball with wings that flies around the whole field and when a seeker catches the snitch the game is over. Usually the team that wins is the one that catches the snitch, because it's worth 150 points. Does that make sense?" Harry nods, a little overloaded with information, but keeping up nonetheless. "That's you done, my dear," Harry smiles to her and thanks her, folding up the robe and taking it with him before looking back, "It was nice to meet you Draco." With an unusual expression, Draco responds, "Well, I'll see you at Hogwarts, I suppose."

After leaving the store, he quickly rejoins with Hagrid eating the ice-cream he'd bought on the way back from the leaky cauldron. "Hagrid… what's your opinion of the houses at Hogwarts?" This question receives a short laugh, but not in a mean way, saying, "I forget how little ya know about our world… well… most people want to be in either Gryffindor or Ravenclaw. Hufflepuff has a reputation of bein' softies, but you'd be better Hufflepuff than Slytherin, not a single wizard went bad that wasn't in Slytherin." Harry was surprised at this, the response was exactly as Draco had said, already he was being discouraged from being in Slytherin. But… if Hagrid was right, that every bad wizard was in Slytherin, then he shouldn't want to be there; but then again Draco hadn't seemed that bad, and he wasn't eager to make an enemy out of a friend.

Holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple; that's how Mr. Ollivander had described his wand. He was practically giddy inside, not knowing how to feel really, but the wand gave him something to focus on besides how crazy this all seemed. He was a wizard, and he was going to go to a school filled with other wizards .And there might be a wizard somewhere out there who wanted him dead… why? What could he possibly have done to deserve someone wanting to kill him. There was nothing he could think of, so despite feeling incredibly uneasy, he pushes it to the back of his mind.

Being back with the Dursley's was the most surreal part of the entire thing. The normalcy of the house after the magical world of Diagon alley. If it weren't for the supplies he had bought, the extra galleons in his pocket, and the snowy owl he named Hedwig staring at him so calmly, he would have thought it was all a very vivid dream. But despite this, he still told his uncle where and when to go to drop him off. But now, he was staring at the platform and had no idea what to do. Using his head, he scans the crowd, obviously he couldn't be the only one to use the platform. It was a godsend when he heard it, "…Packed with muggles, of course…"

The speaker was a plump woman who was talking to four boys, all with flaming red hair… and they had an OWL. He pushes his cart closer, Hedwig giving a soft hoot` "Nine and three quarters! Mom, can't I go?" a small girl says to the woman, who was obviously their mother. "Fred, you next," "I'm not Fred I'm George, honestly woman, you call yourself our mother? Can't you TELL I'm George?" "Sorry George dear," "Only joking, I am Fred." He snickers at the twin's little joke, but focuses on how they were getting onto the platform, because even after watching it be done, he was still quite lost. "Um, Ma'am? I'm… sorry to bother you… but… I don't know… how to…to…" Thankfully the woman smiles warmly and rescues him, "How to get onto the platform?" He nods, wringing the handle bar of his cart ."All you have to do is walk straight at the barrier between platforms nine and ten. Don't stop and don't be scared you'll crash into it, that's very important. Best to do it at a bit of a run if you're nervous. Go on now, before Ron."

 **'PLATFORM NINE AND THREE QUARTERS.'**

 **"Gran, I've lost my toad again."**

 **"Blimey.. Are you? He is, aren't you?" "what?" "HARRY POTTER?" "Oh, him, I mean, yes, I am."**

 **"Ron, you've got something on your nose…" "Aaah, as ickle Ronnie got somefink on his nosie?"**

 **"Oh, are you a PREFECT, Percy? You should have said something, we had no idea. Hang on, I think I remember him saying something about it, once… or twice… a minute… all summer." "Oh shut up."**

 **"Anyone sitting there? Everywhere else is full."**

 **"Are you really Harry Potter?"**

 **"His name's Scabbers and he's useless, he hardly ever wakes up."**

 **"YOU SAID YOU-KNOW-WHO'S-NAME!... I'd have thought you, of all people…"**

 **"Has anyone seen a toad? Neville's lost one… oh… are you doing magic? Let's see it, then."**

 **"I'm Hermione Granger, by the way, who are you?" "I'm Ron Weasley," "Harry Potter."**

 **"What house are your brothers in?" "Gryffindor… I don't suppose Ravenclaw WOULD be too bad, but imagine if they put me in Slytherin."**

Harry was nervous again, but more in an excited way this time. What would Hogwarts look like when he got there? Would it be big? It kinda had to be at least a little impressive if it took a train to get there. His thoughts are interrupted when the door to his compartment opens and one of the red heads from before sticks his head in. After a moment to look around his gaze falls on Harry. "Anyone sitting there? Everywhere else is full…" Harry shook his head, gesturing to the seat, "No… go right ahead." The boy across from him had about the same body type Harry had, short and scrawny, though he lacked glasses and black hair, the red vibrant, though it only makes the dirt on his nose more prominent. "Thanks, I'm Ron, Ron Weasley." Harry smiles, shifting forward in his seat, feeling excited at the prospect of making another friend, "I'm Harry, Harry Potter. It's nice to meet you Ron." Ron's face goes white, blinking several times before training his eyes on Harry's forehead, his hair obscuring his scar for now. "Are you REALLY Harry Potter?" Harry blinks, confused for a moment before he remembers. He was famous… for something he couldn't even remember. Giving a soft smile, Harry lifts a hand and exposes his scar, "Yup, that's me."

As Harry watches, Ron's face goes though so many emotions, Harry can't keep track, and he realizes something. People were always going to judge him based on his past. It was just as it had been with Dudley and his gang, people were going to treat him differently weren't they? "Oh! Um… well, nice to meet you Harry. Honestly, it's a bit of a relief that I don't have to share a compartment with my brothers, I've had about as much as I can take with those two…"Harry tries to smile past him newly enlightened misery with limited success, scanning Ron once more, his eyes landing on the rat in the boy's pocket. "You have a pet rat?" Ron looks down with a slight blush, and he takes him out, obviously a little embarrassed to have it brought into the light like that. "His name's Scabbers and he's useless, he hardly ever wakes up…but he's been a family pet for ages now, another hand-me-down." Now that he mentioned it, Ron's clothes looked almost as baggy on Ron as Harry's looked on Harry. "My clothes are all hand-me downs too, It's especially hard seeing how much bigger my cousin is than me." Ron seemed to cheer up at the thought of not being the only one who wore nothing but hand-me-downs, despite the reason for it being vastly different, Ron having the look of someone who was well fed and well loved, while harry just looked sunken in and scrawny.

"So how many brothers do you have?" Harry asked, trying to make conversation despite being nervous. For some reason, this makes Ron scowl, " 5, but I also have a little sister too. Fred, George, Charlie, Bill, Percy, and George. Ginny is the only one younger than me though, so like I said before, I get lots of hand-me-downs, not to mention my parents don't really have the money to spend on new things, so If I need something it usually come from my brothers." Ron didn't seem to like the topic of his family, so Harry quickly changes the subject, "Do you like Quidditch?" this question makes Ron blink, looking surprised for a moment before laughing once, "Do I like Quidditch? Who doesn't LIKE Quidditch? I follow the Chudley Cannons myself, but there's way too many teams for anyone to NOT like the sport. Have you gotten a favorite team yet?

" Harry shakes his head, feeling a little stupid for having said anything in the first place. "No… I just thought it be a good thing to talk about, I was raised by my Aunt and Uncle, so I'm still learning about all this… non-muggle stuff." Ron's face is quite expressive, though whether it's intentional or not remains to be seen. "That's right… I forgot about that, how was that? Being raised by muggles?" Harry simply shrugs, turning his head down, "Well, I grew up thinking I was a muggle too, so it wasn't me… well to be honest, there were a few things that led me to believe I had something wrong with me that made me different, but I never would have guessed I was a … I mean… that I am a wizard." Ron looks shocked at this, "So, you never knew you were a wizard until you got your letter then?" Harry smirks at this, "Well… actually it's a funny story. My aunt and uncle tried to keep me from getting my letter, but they just kept coming and coming, until they were bursting out of the fireplace and into the air. They actually had to send a person to make sure I got it. " Ron just looks confused by this, "Why didn't they want you to get your letter?" Harry stops at that, finally realizing what he was reveling.

"Um…" He ruffles the back of his head with his hand, his nerves coming to the surface. "They didn't really approve of people who were… different. They knew the whole time that I was….well a wizard, but they tried to hide it, not sure why, but it's something to figure out… I suppose…hmm." Harry trails off, blushing terribly. Ron probably thought he was a freak now too, so much for that friendship. "Um, Harry… you do know that… in our world… being a wizard IS normal… so, technically speaking, your family was trying to make you NOT normal, and obviously you're here so they failed. You've got nothing to worry about, honestly, you're not the only one raised by muggles. About half of our class will be in a boat similar to yours, so you've got nothing to worry about." Harry looks back up at Ron, expecting to find pity or disgust, but instead, he's surprised to see an expression he's never experienced before. Ron was being kind, and he didn't have to be. He was trying to comfort Harry, which made Harry smile. "Thanks Ron.."


	7. Chapter 7

**"Has anyone seen a toad? Neville's lost one… oh… are you doing magic? Let's see it, then."**

 **"I'm Hermione Granger, by the way, who are you?" "I'm Ron Weasley," "Harry Potter."**

 **"What house are your brothers in?" "Gryffindor… I don't suppose Ravenclaw WOULD be too bad, but imagine if they put me in Slytherin."**

 **Three boys entered, and Harry recognized the middle one at once: it was the pale boy from Madam Malkin's robe shop. He was looking at Harry with a lot more interest than he'd shown back in Diagon Alley. "Is it true?" He said. "They're saying all down the train that Harry Potter's in this compartment. So it's you, is it?"**

 **"Yes," said Harry. He was looking at the other boys. Both of them were thickset and looked extremely mean. Standing on either side of the pale boy, they looked like bodyguards. "Oh, this is Crabbe and this is Goyle," said the pale boy carelessly, noticing where Harry was looking. "And my name's Malfoy, Draco Malfoy."**

 **"I think I can tell who the wrong sort are for myself, thanks," he said coolly.**

 **"You've met Malfoy before?" Harry explained about their meeting in Diagon Ally. "I've heard of his family," said Ron darky. "They were some of the first to come back to our side after You-Know-Who disappeared. Said they'd been bewitched. My dad doesn't believe it. He says Malfoy's father didn't need an excuse to go over to the dark side." He turned to Hermione. "Can we help you with something?**

Hermione seemed to be quite a know-it-all, and it was very off-putting, but he wasn't rude enough to actually ask her to leave, though he was happy to see her go. So when three boys entered the compartment, Harry smiled at their arrival, recognizing the one in the center. "Draco! Good to see you." This made Draco smile, seeming as sure of himself as ever. "You as well, practically everyone is swooning over the fact that 'Harry Potter' is in this compartment, it's a good thing we've already met," As Draco spoke, Harry's eyes drift to the two large silent goons, who were obviously there to make sure nothing bad happened to Draco. But Harry couldn't imagine why he would need to be there in the first place. Draco notices where Harry's focus is and gestures toward them with a slight jerk of his head. "Oh, this is Crabbe and this is Goyle. And for those of you who don't know, my name's Malfoy, Draco Malfoy. "Ron gave a slight cough, which might have been hiding a snigger. Draco Malfoy looked at him. "Think my name's funny, do you? No need to ask who you are. My father told me all the Weasleys have red hair, freckles, and more children than they can afford." He turned back to Harry. "You'll soon find out some wizarding families are much better than others, Potter. You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there." He held out his hand to shake Harry's, but Harry didn't take it, not right away at least. The tone of Draco's voice made Harry uneasy, as though this was something dire he had to choose. It felt like he was being asked to pick sides in a war he knew nothing about. He takes Draco's hand and gives it light squeeze, "I'm sorry, but I'd like the chance to decide who the wrong sort are for myself thanks. No hard feelings, hopefully we can still be friends, as long as you don't try to dictate what I should and shouldn't do, we should get along just fine."

Harry's words make Malfoy blush, obviously feeling at least a little slighted, but Harry keeps his expression soft and apologetic, trying hard to keep Draco from getting mad at him. It would be just his luck if he lost any chance of maintaining a friendship. "Are you sure? I'd be careful if I were you, you hang around riffraff like the Weasleys and that Hagrid, and it'll rub off on you." Ron stood up at this, prompting Harry to do the same, placing himself between the two. Harry does this mainly because he knew if Ron started a fight it would be three against one, and he liked Ron enough to care about him. "Say that again," said Ron, his face as red as his hair, which simply makes Draco scoff, knowing full well the odds were in his favor. "Oh, you're going to fight us, are you?" Malfoy was sneering, looking quite cocksure. Harry didn't like this. He grits his teeth, his brows coming together as he scowls, "Unless you get out now." This makes Draco pause, the odds a little less in his favor now that it was closer to being an even fight. Harry's expression changes again, looking serious, but apologetic, "If you leave now there will be no hard feelings, on my part at least… I can't speak for Ron… what do you say?" Harry holds out a hand for Draco to shake, "Friends?" Draco pauses at this, sending Ron a scowl before taking Harry's hand with a smile, "Sure, friends…" With a final squeeze, and scathing look at Ron, Malfoy turns to go, leaving Harry to sigh with relief.

As they left, Harry turned to a seething Ron with an apologetic look. "So… you've obviously met Malfoy before…" Harry nodded, "Yes, we were getting fitted for robes at the same time, left lots of room for chatter to get to know each other a little." Ron simply nods at this, "He probably gave you a warped vision of the way things are. I've heard of his family. " His tone shifts, becoming more ominous, "They were some of the first to come back to our side after you-know-who disappeared. Said they'd been bewitched. My dad doesn't believe it. He said Malfoy's father didn't need an excuse to go over to the dark side." Harry tries to process all this, but it's a lot to take in all at once. So that means, Draco is one of the bad guys? On the side of that dark wizard that left him an orphan, no… no one would actually willingly side with someone so evil. Draco's parents might have been forced into it, maybe they really had been 'bewitched' somehow…"Can we help you with something?" Ron's sudden question brings Harry back from his train of thought, his attention on a confused looking Hermione.

 **The door swung open at once. A tall, black-haired witch in emerald-green robes stood there. She had a very stern face and Harry's first thought was that this was not someone to cross. "The firs' years, Professor McGonagall,"**

 **"How exactly do they sort us into houses?" "Some sort of test, I think. Fred said it hurts a lot, but I think he was joking." A test? In front of the whole school? But he didn't know any Magic yet…**

 **He'd never been more nervous, never, not even when he'd had to take a school report home to the Dursleys saying that he'd somehow turned his teacher's wig blue.'**

 **'maybe the had to try and get a rabbit out of it…'**

 **"Oh, you may not think I'm pretty, But don't judge on what you see, I'll eat myself if you can find a smarter hat than me. You can keep your bowlers black, your top hats sleek and tall, for I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat and I can cap them all. There's nothing hidden in your head the Sorting Hat can't see, so try me on and I will tell you where you ought t be. You might belong in Gryffindor, where dwell the brave at heart, their daring, nerve, and chivalry set Gryffindor apart; You might belong in Hufflepuff, where they are just and loyal, those patient Hufflepuffs are true and unafraid of toil; or yet in wise old Ravenclaw, if you've a ready mind, where those of wit and learning, will always find their kind; or perhaps in Slytherin you' make your real friends, those cunning folk use any means to achieve their ends. So put me on! Don't be Afraid! And don't get in a flap! You're in safe hands (though I have none) for I'm a Thinking Cap!"**

 **"I'll kill Fred, he was going on about wrestling a troll."**

 **"Granger, Hermione!" "GRYFFINDOR"**

 **Malfoy swaggered forward when his name was called and got his wish at once: the hat had barely touched his head when it screamed, "SLYTHERIN!" Malfoy went to join his friends Crabbe and Goyle, looking pleased with himself.**

 **"Potter, Harry!"**

 **"We got Potter! We got Potter!"**

 **"Is he… a bit mad?" "Mad? He's a genius! Best wizard in the world! But he is a bit mad, yes."**

 **Harry looked over at the Slytherin table and saw a horrible ghost sitting there, with blank staring eyes, a gaunt face, and robes stained with silver blood. He was right next to Malfoy who, Harry was pleased to see, didn't look too pleased with the seating arrangements.**

 **Professor Quirrell, in his absurd turban, was talking to a teacher with greasy black hair, a hooked nose, and sallow skin. It happened very suddenly. The hook-nosed teacher looked past Quirrell's turban straight into Harry's eyes, and a sharp, hot pain shot across the scar on Harry's forehead. The pain had gone as quickly as it had come. "That's Professor Snape. He teaches Potions, but he doesn't want to , everyone knows he's after Quirrell's job. Knows an awful lot about the Dark Arts, Snape."**

 **"I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death."**

 **"HOGWARTS, HOGWARTS, HOGGY WARTY HOGWARTS, TEACH US SOMETHING PLEASE, WHETHER WE BE OLD AND BALD OR YOUNG WITH SCABBY KNEES, OUR HEADS COULD DO WITH FILLING WITH SOME INTERESTING STUFF, FOR NOW THEY'RE BARE AND FULL OF AIR, DEAD FLIES AND BITS OF FLUFF. SO TEACH US THINGS WORTH KNOWING, BRING BACK WHAT WE'VE FORGOT. JUST DO YOUR BEST, WE'LL DO THE REST, AND LEARN UNTIL OUR BRAINS ALL ROT."**

 **"Caput Draconis."**

 **'Harry was going to ask Ron if he'd had any of the treacle tart, but he fell asleep almost at once. He was wearing Professor Quirrell's turban, which kept talking to him, telling him he must transfer to Slytherin at once, because it was his destiny. Harry told the turban he didn't want to be in Slytherin; it got heavier and heavier; he tried pulling it off but it tightened painfully… and there was Malfoy, laughing at him as he struggled with it… then Malfoy turned into the hook-nosed teacher, Snape, who's laugh became high and cold. There was a burst of green light and Harry woke, sweating and shaking.'**

So all he had to do was put on the hat and it would tell him which house he was going to be in? That's all? Harry had to agree with Ron, his brother Fred had told him such horror stories about how the houses were picked, but it was almost a relief that it was simple. But Harry had a weight on his shoulders the others didn't, at least not as magnified. If the hat put him in Slytherin it would mean he was going to turn out to be an evil wizard, but if it put him in Gryffindor, it would make an enemy of his first friend. Draco. As Harry watched, classmate after classmate was sorted, Hermione surprising him by getting Gryffindor rather than Ravenclaw. So… it wasn't always the obvious choice. Harry could be bad and still get Gryffindor, or be good in Slytherin. But.. If he were in Slytherin, he'd probably be stuck with only Slytherins for friends. Surely… if he got Gryffindor Draco would still try to be friends… right? "Malfoy, Draco!" Harry watched as Malfoy swaggered forward when his name was called and got his wish at once: the hat had barely touched his head when it screamed, "SLYTHERIN!" Malfoy went to join his friends Crabbe and Goyle, looking pleased with himself. Surely… surely he wouldn't hate him for wanting to be brave. "Potter, Harry!" He wasn't ready… but he walked forward, a bundle of nerves and butterflies in his stomach. Sitting on the stool, he remains perfectly still as the hat is placed on his head.

Almost immediately, a soft voice whispers in his ears, "Hmm, Difficult. Very difficult. Plenty of courage, I see. Not a bad mind either. There's talent, oh my goodness, yes… and a nice thirst to prove yourself, now that's interesting… so where shall I put you?" At this question, one thought sparked itself to the forefront of his mind. Not Slytherin. "Not Slytherin, eh? Are you sure? You could be great, you now, it's all here in your head, and Slytherin will help you on the way to greatness, no doubt about that… no? Well, if you're sure… better be GRYFFINDOR!" Harry laughed once in relief, tension draining from him instantly as soon as it was decided. "WE GOT POTTER!" Harry balks at this. He hadn't expected them to be excited about getting him, had never even begun to think of himself as something to be desired. But this thought pattern winds down after sitting down. His eyes find his target shortly after he sat, Malfoy, he looked awfully upset at Harry's choice, more so than the other Slytherins and even the other two houses. A moment later, and Harry finds himself making direct eye contact with Draco. A short little shiver runs through him, and he has to force his gaze elsewhere. He hadn't had a tingle like that in a while, usually it only happened when something really weird was going on, like the wrestling boys or girls in short skirts, and he finds himself quite thankful to already be sitting.

The food was amazing, and not because it was more food than he'd ever had access to, but the taste in itself was sublime. However, Harry was still holding his forehead after the sharp pain he'd suddenly experienced when he'd looked at the hook nosed teacher. Professor Snape, he seemed to be the darkest wizard Harry had met, almost seeming to be too obvious of a threat. If Harry was supposed to be scared of Snape, it wasn't working, Harry knew he had nothing to fear in a castle full of powerful adult wizards. Speaking of Dark wizards, Voldemort was still a concept he just couldn't get his head wrapped around. Why would anyone try to kill him, especially as a baby… and not only that, but fail at it as well. Harry wondered not for the first time if Voldemort was actually gone for good or not, because he doubted very much that if this man tried again that he'd make the same mistake, whatever it was, and would be much more likely to succeed. But turning back to Snape, Harry felt quite bad for Quirrell being stuck in a conversation with him.

Harry woke up, sweating and shaking, a feeling of dread sending him up into a sit, glancing around his bed, the curtains drawn for privacy. It takes him longer than it should to get grounded back in reality, but by then the content of his dream has been forgotten and Harry reclines back, trying to get his thoughts in order. Today had been such a big day, He'd met countless wizards just like himself, and others who had been raised by Wizards, but it didn't seem like there would be too much of a gap in the learning curve. And now that Harry had no Dudley, he might actually make some real friends, Ron was turning out to be nice, just the thought of Ron helped Harry finish off relaxing, putting him at ease knowing he was nearby. But what about Malfoy? He didn't want to make an enemy of him simply based on principle, but that's going to be hard to avoid now that they were on apposing houses. Maybe he'd find a way to patch things up between them.

 **"There, look," "Where?" "Next to the tall kid with the red hair." "Wearing the glasses?" "Did you see his face?" Did you see his scar?"**

 **'There were a hundred and forty-two staircases at Hogwarts: wide, sweeping ones; narrow, rickety ones; some that led somewhere different on a Friday; some with a vanishing step halfway up that you had to remember to jump. Then there were doors that wouldn't open unless you asked politely, or tickled them in exactly the right place, and doors that weren't really doors at all, but solid walls just pretending.'**

 **'There was a lot more to magic, as Harry quickly found out, than waving your wand and saying a few funny words. There was so much to learn that even people like Ron didn't have much of a head start.'**

 **"Ah, yes, Harry Potter. Our new … celebrity." Draco Malfoy and his friends Crabbe and Goyle sniggered behind their hands. "You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion making. As there is little foolish wand waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses…I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death… if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."**

 **"What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?" Hermione's hand shot into the air. "I don't know, sir." "Tut, tut… fame clearly isn't everything…. Let's try again. Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?" Hermione stretched her hand as high into the air as it would go without leaving her seat. He tried not to look at Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle, who were shaking with laughter. "I don't know, sir." "Thought you wouldn't open a book before coming, eh, Potter? What is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?" At this, Hermione stood up, her hand stretching towards the dungeon ceiling. "I don't know, I think Hermione does, though, why don't you try her?" "Asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion so powerful it is known a the Draught of Living Death. A bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat and it will save you from most poisons. As for monkshood and wolfsbane, they are the same plant, which also goes by the name of aconite. Well? Why aren't you all copying that down? And a point will be taken from Gryffindor House for your cheek, Potter." He swept around in his long black cloak, watching them weigh dried nettles and crush snake fangs, criticizing almost everyone except Malfoy, whom he seemed to like.'**

Harry had never asked for this much attention, he'd never even dreamed of having this many eyes on him, and for good reason. He didn't like it. It was too much all at once, and Harry wasn't equipped to handle it. He only managed to make it through the day by having Ron stand between him and the crowd, the taller boy mostly able to shield him from view. Harry wasn't used to people actually paying attention to him yet, let alone making a big fuss over him, especially the teachers. Proffesor McGonagall was the only one not to at least stumble over his name, which made her instantly his favorite teacher, despite her unwillingness to favor her house the way that Snape did. It had been a true hell having to withstand his barrage of questions only a know-it-all could possibly have known by then. And even then he hadn't let Hermione answer. It was painfully obvious that Snape disliked him, though as to why, Harry was stumped. What could he have possibly done to earn such hatred? Was it simply because he was famous? For something he didn't even remember? That couldn't have been more unfair. Though Snape had seemed to like Draco, who had said his parents were well known, so it couldn't be just because he was well known, because the Malfoys were well known too, even Ron had known who they were.


	8. Chapter 8

**'Harry had never believed he would meet a boy he hated more than Dudley, but that was before he met Draco Malfoy. Still, first year Gryffindors only had Potions with the Slytherins so they didn't have to put up with Malfoy much. '**

 **"Typical, just what I always wanted. To make a fool of myself on a broomstick in front of Malfoy." "Anyway, I know Malfoy's always going on about how good he is at Quidditch, but I bet that's all talk." Malfoy certainly did talk about flying a lot. He complained loudly about first years never getting on the house Quidditch teams and told long, boastful stories that always seemed to end with him narrowly escaping Muggles in helicopters. Everyone from wizarding families talked about Quidditch constantly.'**

 **'Malfoy's eagle owl was always bringing him packages of sweets from home, which he opened gloatingly at the Slytherin table. '**

 **'Neville was trying to remember what he'd forgotten when Draco Malfoy, who was passing the Gryffindor table, snatched the Remembrall out of his hand. Harry and Ron jumped to their feet. They were half hoping for a reason to fight Malfoy, but Professor McGonagall, who could spot trouble quicker than any teacher in the school, was there in a flash, "What's going on?" "Malfoy's got my Remembrall, Professor." Scowling, Malfoy quickly dropped the Remembrall back on the table. "Just looking."**

 **'Harrys broom jumped into his hand at once, but it was one of the few that did.'**

 **'Madam hooch then walked up and down the rows, correcting their grips. Harry and Ron were delighted when she told Malfoy he'd been doing it wrong for years.'**

 **'Neville, his face tear-streaked, clutching his wrist, hobbled off with Madam Hooch, who had her arm round him. No sooner were they out of earshot than Malfoy burst into laughter. "Did you see his face, the great lump?" "Shut up, Malfoy," snapped Pavarti Patil. "Look!" said Malfoy, darting forward and snatching something out of the grass. "It's that stupid thing Longbottom's gran sent him." "Give that here, Malfoy," said Harry quietly. Malfoy smiled nastily. "I think I'll leave it somewhere for Longbottom to find, how about, up a tree?" "Give it HERE!" Harry yelled, but Malfoy had leapt onto his broomstick and taken off. He hadn't been lying, he COULD fly well. Hovering level with the topmost branches of an oak he called, "Come and get it, Potter!" Harry grabbed his broom. In a rush of fierce joy he realized he'd found something he could do without being taught. This was easy, this was WONDERFUL. He turned his broomstick sharply to face Malfoy in midair. Malfoy looked stunned. "Give it here," Harry called, "or I'll knock you off that broom!" "Oh, yeah?" said Malfoy, trying to sneer, but looking worried. Harry knew, somehow, what to do. He leaned forward and grasped the broom tightly in both hands, and it shot toward Malfoy like a javelin. Malfoy only just got out of the way in time; Harry made a sharp about-face and held the broom steady. A few people below were clapping. "No Crabbe and Goyle up here to save your neck, Malfoy," Harry called. The same thought seemed to have struck Malfoy. "Catch it if you can, then!" he shouted, and he threw the glass ball high into the air and streaked back toward the ground.'**

 **"HARRY POTTER!"**

 **Harry caught sight of Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle's triumphant faces as he left, walking numbly in Professor McGonagall's wake.'**

 **"Potter, this is Oliver Wood. Wood, I've found you a Seeker."**

 **"Seeker? But first years NEVER … you must be the youngest house player in about.. A century"**

The one thing Harry had been looking forward to more than anything was learning how to ride a broomstick. The stereotypical act of flying around in the air on a broom sounding adventurous and like so much fun. However, he wasn't so sure he'd actually be any good at it, after all, this would be the first real sport activity he'd be taking part in, even if it was just practice. The whole thing was only made worse by the fact that they were sharing their broom riding classes with the Slytherins. Harry was starting to see what Ron and everyone else meant about all Slytherins being bad, or at least how bad the animosity between Gryffindor and Slytherin could get. Harry still wanted to be friends with Draco, but with the way things were, it was starting to look impossible. In every class they shared, the Slytherins and the Gryffindors were always at each others throats, no matter what. This made it impossible for Harry to even approach Draco, let alone talk to him and get to know him better. Maybe he should just give up on being friends with the blonde. But no matter how hard he tried, he just couldn't get the boy off his mind.

Harry always found himself watching Draco whenever he had the chance, especially in the great hall when he didn't have to focus on classes. Draco was always getting things in the mail that made him smirk with superiority, even when compared to the other pureblooded families. His owl was pretty, brown spotted with horns on its head. Not quite as pretty as Hedwig, but still rather nice, he wasn't one hundred percent on the breed, after all, he wasn't too familiar with owl breeds. Sitting next to him, Ron was talking to Neville, about the shining red ball in his hand, apparently the color meant he was forgetting something… or something like that, honestly he wasn't paying attention. He was watching Draco approach his part of the table. Was he coming over to talk to him?

No… he'd suddenly snatched the ball out of Neville's hand. An instant before it happens, he sees Ron move. He wasn't going to fight him was he? He immediately stands as well, half to back up his friend and half to hold him back and prevent him from fighting Draco. There may be animosity between houses, but that didn't mean he had to just let Ron attempt to beat the crap out of Malfoy, after all, Ron was much taller than both Harry and Draco. Thankfully, before he can even stretch out a hand to hold Ron back, Professor McGonagall was there, looking as stern as ever. He almost smiles at her quick approach, rapidly relaxing, knowing Ron wasn't stupid enough to pick a fight in front of her. "What's going on?" Harry doesn't know what to say, not wanting to get either of the boys in trouble, but the one to speak up is the most timid of the bunch, Neville raising his hand, "Malfoy's got my Remembrall, Professor." Looking as though he's had his fun quite spoiled, Draco drops the ball onto the table, making a face that seemed to be innocent, "Just looking." He says, as though he hadn't just tried to steal the ball from little Neville. Harry narrows his eyes at Draco when he leaves, wondering what he had hoped to accomplish from taking the ball. Had he wanted to start a fight with Ron? And maybe Harry too? Would Harry fight him? He wasn't sure, but with the way things were, he was much more inclined to stand beside Ron, who was actually in the same house as him, and had been nothing but a good friend so far.

Later that same day, they were finally going to practice riding brooms for the first time. Madam Hooch gave them quick and concise instruction. Harry raised his hand over the broom on the ground, steeling himself in case he managed to fail at this first bit. "Up!" Harry's broom leaps up into his hand and he grips it firmly, smiling at his success. He glances at the people beside him, surprised to see that very few of the other's broom had jumped up like his had. Huh. He waits until everyone else had at last gotten their brooms up into their hands, though Neville had had to give up and simply pick up the broom. Once everyone else was where he had been for several minutes, he mounts the broom, one leg on either side, bouncing lightly on his feet. He was getting so close! It was so exciting, just to be on the broom. Madam Hooch then walked up and down the rows, correcting their grips. Harry found it slightly funny when Draco's grip was shown to be incorrect, he looked surprised to have had been doing it wrong for years, though Ron looked rather pleased about the Malfoy boy being corrected. Harry was also pleasantly surprised when his grip is examined and left alone. He'd gotten it right right away? That was cool.

So all they had to do was push off the ground and hover, that sounded easy enough. Harry waits for the whistle, but before it even goes off, he notices Neville rising rather quickly into the air. He looked absolutely terrified as he steadily rose into the air, looking as though he had no control over the broom at all. Harry was horribly worried as he watched hi slowly start to slip off the broom, wincing when he hears him fall with a hard thud and a light crunch. He feels awfully bad for him as he watches him limp away beside Madam Hooch, biting his lip. What if that had been him? What if he lost control of his broom and fell off? What if he broke more than just a wrist? He's puled out of his morbid thoughts by the sound of laughter. Shocked, his eyes land on Draco, the boy's face slightly red from laughing so hard, "Did you see his face, the great lump?" Harry wasn't so surprised to see Malfoy laughing at a Gryffindor, though he does still feel quite bad for Neville. "Shut up, Malfoy." A girl was sticking up for the boy, of course she was, she was a Gryffindor. Harry should be sticking up for him as well, but he doesn't want to make the rivalry between himself and Draco official, after all, as long as they never exactly fought, there was still a chance at them being friends.

"Look! said Malfoy, darting forward and snatching something out of the grass. "It's that stupid thing Longbottom's gran sent him." He holds up the cloudy silver ball for everyone to see, and Harry's eyes narrow. This was the deciding point, did he speak up now for Neville? Or stay quiet and in Draco's relatively good graces. He sighs, making up his mind at last, "Give that here, Malfoy." He calls him by his surname like the other Gryffindors do, making his side of things quite plain with Draco. Slowly slowly, Draco turns around to face him, looking him up and down as though making sure it were really him that had spoken up. After a few seconds, Draco's face peels back in a nasty grin, "Now that you mention it, I think I'll leave it somewhere for Longbottom to find, how about, up a tree?" Malfoy suddenly mounts his broom, giving Harry only a moment to demand, "Give it, here!" He shouted, rushing towards him as quickly as he can, but he's too slow on foot, and Draco zooms into the air. His form was nearly flawless, gliding up high to the top of one of the nearby trees, a shit-eating grin on his face as he gloated, "Come and get it, Potter! You know you want to…" Steeling himself, Harry mounts his broom, taking a deep breathe before pushing off the ground, his intention just to hover at first to see if he could even balance. When he suddenly realizes how easy it felt, he grins widely, laughing slightly as he rises higher rather quickly, in full control of his broom. He slides effortlessly right alongside Draco, smirking as he nears him.

"Give it here," He says, still smirking like a bastard, "Or I'll knock you off that broom." He keeps his voice level, trying not to betray how overjoyed he was that he was actually good at something without having to be taught. Malfoy was obviously trying not to look as worried as he felt, but was failing miserably. "Oh yeah?" Harry snickers at his false bravado, shifting on his broom to prepare for his next move, "Yeah." He suddenly lurched forward, shooting straight at Draco, who only just barely managed to move in time to avoid falling. Harry turned around on a dime, expertly holding himself steady. Malfoy seemed surprised by how well Harry could handle his broom, much better than the boy himself seemed capable of. Harry felt like gloating for the first time in his life, still smirking as he rose back up to Malfoy's level. "No Crabbe and Goyle up here to save your neck, Malfoy," He calls, feeling rather superior. This must be how Draco felt all the time, especially judging by his expressions, always thinking he was better than everyone else. Malfoy looked down where his two body guards were watching from the ground, of no use to him down there. He then looks at Harry, seeming to be thinking of a way out. He then looks at the ball, smirking suddenly, seeming to have found his solution. "Catch it if you can, then!" He states before chucking the ball across the yard, high into the air. Harry's eyes follow the ball, instinct driving him to dive after it, his hair swishing across his forehead as the wind zooms past him, robes fluttering in the wind as well.

He dives down fast, only just managing to wrap his fingers around the ball in time to pull up, landing softly and rolling to a stop on the far side of the yard, holding up the ball triumphantly, as the rest of the Gryffindors cheer for him. He watches as Malfoy glides to the ground, feeling euphoric as he stands up, only to recoil when he hears his name being shouted in an incredibly stern tone.

Ron was looking dumbfounded, but pleasantly surprised at the same time. "Seeker? But first years NEVER… you must be the youngest house player in about a… a.." Harry smiles, politely finishing for him, "A century." Harry was still a little out of it. He had thought he was going to be expelled when he'd first seen the Professor walking up the yard. But he wasn't even in trouble! And he was going to be playing Quidditch! He could hardly believe his luck, and he could only thank Malfoy for it, if he hadn't stolen Neville's ball, he would never had gotten into the air like that and caught it. He still couldn't believe he actually caught it.

 **'Fred and George had hardly disappeared when someone far less welcome turned up: Malfoy, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle. "Having a last meal, Potter? When are you getting the train back to the Muggles?" "You're a lot braver now that you're back on the ground and you've got your little friends with you," said Harry coolly. "I'd take you on anytime on my own," said Malfoy. "Tonight, if you want. Wizard's duel. Wands only… no contact. What's the matter? Never heard of a Wizard's duel before, I suppose?" "Of course he has," said Ron, wheeling around. "I'm his second, who's yours?" Malfoy looked at Crabbe and Goyle, sizing them up. "Crabbe," He said. "Midnight all right? We'll meet you in the trophy room; that's always unlocked." When Malfoy had gone, Ron and Harry looked at each other.'**

 **"If either of you get us caught, I'll never rest until I've learned that Curse of the Bogies Quirrell told us about, and used it on you."**

 **"Malfoy tricked you, you realize that, don't you? He was never going to meet you… Filch knew someone was going to be in the trophy room, Malfoy must have tipped him off."**

 **"Alohomora!" They weren't in a room, as he had supposed. They were in a corridor. The forbidden corridor on the third floor. And now they knew why it was forbidden. Between Filch and death, he'd take Filch. '**

 **"I hope you're pleased with yourselves. We could all have been killed… or worse, expelled. Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to bed."**

 **'It looked as though Harry had found out where the grubby little package from vault seven hundred and thirteen was.'**

Harry was quite happy to be meeting the other members of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, though the only ones he really remembered the names of were Oliver wood, the keeper, and the two beaters, Ron's twin brothers Fred and George. He was rather pleased when they didn't seem to be bothered by his age, they only seemed excited that he was going to be on the team. Was it just because he was famous? Or was it genuinely based on his skills? Would he always have to wonder if people liked him for him or for his fame? Eventually the rest of the team leaves him alone, letting him finish his dinner in peace, though someone was determined to prevent him from achieving that peace. "Having a last meal, Potter? When are you getting the train back to the muggles?" Feeling irritated to have to deal with him picking fights now that they were officially on bad terms, he simply shifts in his seat, resting his face on his fist, "Well. You're a lot braver now that you're back on the ground, and you've got your little friends with you." Malfoy suddenly stands taller, looking rather smug despite obviously still being in the company of his recruits, "I'd take you on anytime on my own, tonight, if you want. Wizard's duel. Wands only, no contact." He suddenly sneers, glancing up and down Harry, "What's the matter? Never heard of a Wizard's duel before, I suppose?" Ron suddenly stands, looking quite riled up, "Of course he has, I'm his second, who's yours?" Blinking in what could only be surprise, Malfoy turns to look over his companions, sizing them up. After a second to deliberate, he finally settles on one, "Crabbe. Midnight all right? We'll meet you in the trophy room; that's always unlocked." As Malfoy turns to go, his gaze locks with Harry's. Out of nowhere, Draco suddenly winks at him, smirking evilly as he walks off. What was that about?

Hermione looked razzled, as did the rest of their little group. Harry really couldn't blame them, first almost getting cauht out of bed by filch, then almost getting eaten by a three headed dog. This was not the best night Harry could have had. Hermione huffs at Harry and Ron, hands on her hips, "Malfoy tricked you, you realize that, don't you? He was never going to meet you. Filch knew someone was going to be in the trophy room, Malfoy must have tipped him off." Harry hated to admit it, but it seemed as though the know-it-all was right. But it didn't really help his opinion of her when she took it upon herself to scold him. "I hope you're pleased with yourselves. We could have all been killed… or worse, expelled. Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to bed." Harry simply waves her off, not to be bothered with dealing with her attitude. He follows Ron up to bed, drawing the curtains on his own bed and laying down for the night. Due to all the running and screaming he'd done that night, he's understandably exausted, falling asleep rather quickly.


End file.
